


What Secrets Keep

by JenExell



Series: What... [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Book 2: Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Monsters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-21
Updated: 2013-09-04
Packaged: 2017-12-24 05:15:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 90,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/935815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenExell/pseuds/JenExell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Au Book 2. Sometimes there are just too many secrets, and sometimes all it takes to start unraveling them is a failed spell from a broken wand. But with secrets, lies, half truths, mysteries and a giant snake in the pipework, who can be believed?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Early November 1981**

It was raining. 

It was right that it should. That the sky should weep on today of all days. The sun would be an unwelcome mockery given the circumstances.

There was a pub not far from where he stood. He could hear the sounds of people celebrating even here. There'd been a lot of that lately. Celebrating.

People. Other people. They had a lot to celebrate he supposed. It was over. The Dark Lord had been destroyed; the end of the war had finally come. Life, as people had once known it, would resume once more. 

Not for him. 

The cruellest of ironies. What those people celebrated was in fact the loss of everything he held dear. Not the Dark Lord. The thought of his demise was the only thing that allowed him to breathe. One slow, painful breath after another. 

It was all gone. Everything. Everyone. 

The rain came down like a torrent and he didn't care, just stood and stared, trying to find a thought in his head that would allow him to move from this place. Just stood and watched as the water ran over the broken stone, over keepsakes and mementoes scattered about. The scavengers had already been. They got here before he could, taking so much and for what? Souvenirs? 

It was sick. 

It was perverse. 

It was so typical of the callous world they lived in. 

Something creaked in the wreckage. The cottage wasn't done decaying. 

The rain continued to fall. On the place that had once been their home. A happy, joyful comfortable home. The place where a family, such a loving family, had lived. The place where the war had been ended, where Voldermort had finally been dispatched. 

It shouldn't have ended like this. 

Not like this. 

"I thought I might find you here."

Turning his blank stare away from what had been a fairly ordinary little cottage in the village of Godric's Hollow, he faced the owner of the voice. It was a voice rich with age, wisdom and compassion. 

"Headmaster" He replied dully, taking in the fine robes, the pointed shoes, the long flowing silvery beard. 

The newcomer approached slowly, not cautiously but with a purposeful yet unhurried stride until they were standing side-by-side and could share the benefit of the headmaster's umbrella. Not that he cared, he was already soaked through. 

"It seems fitting that it should rain today." The headmaster said sadly. "If it hadn't, I think I might have attempted to make it."

He just grunted, not even shocked that such thoughts had mirrored his own. It was a universal truth really. It should always rain at funerals.

"You left early." The headmaster spoke again. They were both now staring at the rubble. 

"I couldn't stay." He said by way of explanation. And it seemed explanation enough. The headmaster nodded. 

For a long moment they just stood there. Staring. He could feel the words being chosen by the man beside him and he flicked his eyes across, catching sight as he did of the umbrella's handle. It was shaped like a ducks head. 

He looked back at the cottage. What was left of it. Perverse. The world was deeply wrong. 

"He's safe?" He finally asked. It was the only thing he really wanted to know anyway. 

"Yes." The headmaster sighed. "He's with family. They'll look after him. You do understand..."

"I know." He cut the headmaster off. He didn't need to be reminded of his own failure. 

"You know I have to ask." The headmaster said after a long stretch of uncomfortable silence. 

He sighed. Yes he'd known. It was obvious. He'd been amazed he hadn't been asked before. But then, the headmaster was the only other person left alive now who'd known why he of all people should be asked. Except one, too young to comprehend, and another who.... He stopped the thought. He didn't want to think of him. But he had to. Because the headmaster would not let the matter lie. "Ask."

There was a rustling sound. A wand being readied to be drawn. Maybe if he lied it would all be over. Maybe if he lied, the headmaster would just put him out of his misery. Cure him of the vacant ever present ache of loss and betrayal. 

"Remus John Lupin." The headmaster spoke. Official. The headmaster wanted this official. The wand was probably keeping the words. "Did you know or have suspicions prior to the morning of the first of November, and thus willingly concealed said knowledge or suspicions from the appropriate authorities that Sirius Orion Black was in league with the Dark Wizard known as Lord Voldermort or that Sirius Orion Black had intentions to betray his oath as secret keeper and divulge the whereabouts of James and Lily Potter to said same Dark Wizard?"

He could lie. But he wasn't going to. 

"No."

Firm. He hadn't known. He hadn't the slightest damn clue. 

But he should have. He of all people should have. 

He couldn't stay here. He had to leave. There was nothing left here. Not for him. His best friends murdered. Sirius... 

"We should probably return to the wake." The headmaster mused. "Or at least get somewhere dry."

Remus shook his head.

"This isn't your fault Remus" The headmaster spoke with concern and sympathy. 

Remus wanted to smack him over the head with his damned duck's head umbrella for telling such lies. 

"Remus listen to me very carefully." The headmaster persisted. "This was not your fault. James, Lily, Peter, their blood is not on your hands. Sirius, and Sirius alone is responsible for the choices he made. He hid his true self from all of us. Most especially from you."

Words. Just words. He had to go. 

Shaking his head, Remus picked up the bag that had been sat between his feet, shouldered it and turned away, out of the shelter of the umbrella. Away from the cottage. Away from the family, friends and life he'd somehow naively thought would always be there. 

"Remus!" The headmaster called after he'd only made it a few strides through the rain. "Where will you go?"

Remus cast one last look at the headmaster, then the cottage and shrugged. Turning back around, he pulled his collar up around his neck and trudged off into the dark rain. 


	2. Lost Boys

Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry was a place of great renown. Founded by the four greatest witches and wizards of their age, more than a thousand years past, it was the flagship of magical education. The home of the elite, the crème-de-la-crème of Magical Society. If Wizarding Britain had a royal line, then its scions would certainly have graced Hogwarts’ hallowed halls. 

As it was there was no such royal line, but instead many great and noble pureblood houses. Houses whose wealth and influence had steered the path of the Wizarding world for generations, and whose magical ancestry was irrefutable. And it was to Hogwarts that this ruling class sent their children, their names upon its register from the moment of their births. The Blacks, the Malfoys, the Crabbes, the Goyles, the Bones, the Crouchs, the Parkinsons, the Potters, the Princes. To name but a few.

They were not however the only ones to whom Hogwarts opened its doors. It was after all, a place of great prestige. Anyone who was _anyone_ of remotest power, wealth or influence attempted to send their child to Hogwarts. As a result, rubbing shoulders with those of old money and old blood, were the children of new money, of parents who had with hard work and entrepreneurial vision (or keen minds and negotiable ethics) risen themselves from their humble beginnings. There were other Wizarding schools of course, other privately funded schools with excellent reputations as well as the less well regarded Ministry schools, but Hogwarts was the _one._ Hogwarts children were glory bound, destined for greatness. Its history spoke for itself. 

It was for that reason that it also found itself the term time home of the children of the Ministry. Ever concerned with public appearance, it simply would not do for the children of high ranking Ministry officials to be educated anywhere else. A place at Hogwarts was guaranteed to anyone born of a parent in a high enough position of government. To make sure this place was taken up, despite the somewhat limited salaries awarded to those in civil service, these places were always - quietly - subsidised. 

It was only through this last means, and those discreetly reduced fees, that the Weasleys had returned to Hogwarts. A pureblood house though they were, their wealth and status had been lost many generations past. The last four generations had risen through the Ministry, and as a result the last three had walked the halls of Hogwarts again, adding their names to the lists of their ancestors who had come before. 

Thankfully for the school's academic reputation however, the wealth or status of a child's parents were not the only qualifying criteria for admission to Hogwarts. All schools needed funding of course, and without the fee paying students the facilities at the school would not be anything like what they were. Hogwarts had a reputation for excellence to maintain and to that end selected from across the country were the finest young minds and brightest new talents, regardless of financial, social or ethnic background or magical blood lineage. That wasn't to say that those whose tuition was paid for had less talent, (some of the purebloods would argue the exact opposite) some of said students were in fact incredibly talented, but it was a well observed fact, especially by the teaching staff, that money and breeding did not always equal ability. 

Selecting these students was always an involved process. The number to be taken on each year varied, depending on those already on the books, how much the Ministry was willing to award in subsidies and of course, the fact that the ability benchmark changed from cohort to cohort. The _Trace_ , which attached itself to every newborn witch or wizard until their 17th birthday certainly helped, monitoring as it did the latent aptitude of each child as they grew; glowing brightly as a child's natural magic matured, or fizzling out as the initial burst faded to nothing, leaving a squib. In fact it was the keystone of the whole process, and the only way to track those of muggle, non-magical birth. 

There was one final group of students at Hogwarts, and they were always a rather mixed bag. Few had money, although some did. Many were talented, bright or with high aptitudes, but some were not. Some were pureblood, some were halfblood. None were Muggle-born. These were the children of the Honoured, of those who had performed great service to the Wizarding world, and in most cases had given their lives in the process. Children like Neville Longbottom, whose place at Hogwarts had been given not because his family was pureblood, not because of ability - for many years he had been thought barely more than a squib, and despite scoring fairly well on latent aptitude, his actual ability was generally considered low - but because of his parents, who had sacrificed their futures and sanity to protect the Wizarding world. These children paid not a penny towards their schooling, unless their guardians chose to make a contribution. The tradition had likely started as what it outwardly appeared to be; a gift, a reward, a thank-you. The more cynical minded however, could not help but notice what an excellent Public Relations exercise such students made; for both the school and the Ministry. Not that anyone actually suspected _The School_ of such motivations. 

The greatest public relations coup though, came perhaps in the form of the one student who did not exactly fit into any of the aforementioned admissions categories and yet at the same time would have qualified in each. His aptitude was markedly high, although his academic level was considered to be lower than expected. He was descended on his father's side from an old and noble pureblood house, one which had retained its wealth if not its influence. His father had also been, before his untimely passing, an Auror; one who many had tipped for high office in future years. His mother too, although Muggle-born, had clearly been destined for great things. Together, his parents had been heroes. Not renowned at the time, but upon their deaths they had been elevated almost to martyrdom; the boy's mother would most certainly have been in the running for a sainthood had the Wizarding world subscribed to a branch of Christian based religion. The story of this particular boy's parents was the most retold of all the tales from the last great Wizarding war. 

The most retold that was, other than his own. For he was the Boy-Who-Lived. He was the child, who as a tiny infant had been responsible for the destruction of arguably the most powerful and evil wizard in known history, and with this act, had singlehandedly ended one of the worst wars the Wizarding world had ever known. 

He was Harry Potter. 

And never had Minerva McGonagall ever faced a challenge quite like him. She'd been a teacher at the school for more than thirty years, head of Gryffindor house for twenty two and Deputy Headmistress for nine. And never in all her time had she come across a student who so haplessly managed to end up in strife. 

He wasn't a poorly behaved child. In fact he was usually unfailingly polite, courteous and obedient. To a point. What he was, was a damaged child. A lifetime of teaching children honed the eye to these things. She'd warned the Headmaster about those damned Muggle relatives of his, the ones Albus Dumbledore in all his wisdom had insisted young Harry must remain with. And sure enough, when the boy had finally started at the school she'd seen straight away the unfamiliarity he had with affection, his confusion and delight at the simplest acts of kindness and the suspicion with which he tried to fathom out the motives behind such kindness. 

Most obvious of all however, had been the distrust with which the boy viewed the adults around him, and the responsibility he piled upon himself because of it. He was far too young to be as self sufficient and self contained as he was. Far too young to see the world with so much cynicism. It could have been worse, she knew that, but it was bad enough.

The boy was a legend in his own lifetime. A child of destiny about whom prophesies foretold. And he was barely twelve years old! 

If there was one person who should be able to shelter behind the adults who cared for him it was Harry Potter and yet between the boy's fierce independence, belief that he must do everything for himself and the Headmaster's cryptic insistence that the boy must find his own path, he more often than not found his way into trouble far beyond that which would usually find a boy of his age. Far beyond that which would usually find anyone of _any age_. 

Not that he hadn't handled himself well. Curse Albus for bringing the Philosopher's Stone to the school in the first place; but if the events of last year had taught Minerva nothing else it was that Harry Potter was a powerful and resourceful young wizard. To learn that he had found his way through the myriad of traps and wards that had been placed around the stone, with only the aid of his first years schooling and his two undoubtedly heroic and steadfast friends was quite simply astounding. To know that he did this and then defeated the spirit of Voldermort who had for at least a year been in possession of dear sweet and now sadly departed professor Quirrel, was beyond belief. 

Yet it had happened. And Minerva had sorely hoped that would be the end of it. She had hoped vehemently that the new school year would bring with it for Harry only the troubles that beset most boys his age. The trials of the onset of puberty, the demands of a rigorous curriculum, spats and tiffs between himself and his friends that would teach him the lessons he would need to learn to cope with everyday life in the future as a well balanced mature adult. Misfiring spells, pranks, mischief and Quiddich practice. Normal things. 

For four whole weeks it looked like she would get her wish. Other than an unconventional arrival, those first four weeks had passed without incident. Then there had been that message, written in blood on the wall. The Chamber of Secrets. Of all things, the Chamber of Secrets. And who should be the one to first stumble upon the message and Mr Filch's cat, Mrs Norris, strung up on the wall petrified? None other than Harry Potter. 

Four weeks! Just four weeks and he'd managed to get himself into the middle of something. Well alright so he wasn't in the middle. He'd simply found the message, not written it. And it wasn't a threat to _him_. No the Chamber of Secrets and the monster legend told lived within were only a threat to the Muggle-born. That one of Harry's best friend's happened to be Muggle-born was purely an unlucky coincidence. 

Besides, Harry had other things to occupy his mind at the moment. Oh yes. Nothing was ever simple with Harry Potter. And this time it was something entirely to do with him. In fact it couldn't have had more to do with him if it tried. 

Just days after the discovery of the message relating to the Chamber of Secrets, while the students were still all abuzz with it, the most curious and amazing thing had happened in class. In her class. It was supposed to have been a fairly ordinary lesson. The start of the second years' journey into the study of live transfiguration. And it had started as she had expected it to. 

Harry had almost been late, Malfoy had been late but had been escorted by Professor Snape who had claimed he'd been talking to the boy and was the cause of his lack of punctuality - Minerva didn't believe that for a second - Ronald Weasley had been even later, thanks apparently to his rat's decision to hide in one of his shoes and not come out. 

So a fairly ordinary start. Hermione Granger had attempted to answer every question, and had had a text book perfect answer every time. She'd even known that live transfiguration was the route into which one might study to become an animagus; a truly advanced piece of knowledge. The demonstration of the day's spell had gone well; unlike on occasions where the subject would wriggle, flap or even decide to make a break for it, the bird had sat quietly and allowed itself to be turned into a water goblet. 

Then she'd thought to take a little revenge on Ronald for his lateness and asked him to perform the spell on his rat, forgetting that he had a broken wand. All things considered, he'd actually done fairly well. A furry goblet with a tail was far better than a half metallic student with a hollow head. But it was at this point that it had all gone wrong. 

Hermione had asked about the Chamber of Secrets, and although Minerva was a firm believer in letting children have their childhood, she was also not a proponent of lying to them when they asked direct and serious questions. Unfortunately, towards the end of her explanation of Salazar Slytherin's unpleasant legacy, young Ronald’s rat-goblet had begun to squeak alarmingly, wobbling around on the table apparently in desperation. The half transformed creature was clearly in great distress, and so when the standard reversal spells had failed, Minerva had cast a more potent one. One supposed to return an object or creature to its natural state. 

She had expected it to work and it had. She had not expected it to turn Ronald Weasley's rat into a person. Or for that person to be none other than one of her former students, Peter Pettigrew. 

Peter Pettigrew, one of the self titled Marauders; a group of four Gryffindor boys who had graduated some fifteen years ago, and who among them, other than Peter, had also numbered one James Harold Potter - Harry's father. The same Peter Pettigrew who had been - at least so everyone believed until the moment he appeared on top of Ron's desk in her classroom - murdered by another friend and fellow Marauder, Sirius Black. The same Sirius Black who had sold out Harry's parents to Lord Voldermort and was directly responsible for their deaths. 

To see him there large as life had been shocking to say the least. For the first time in her career at Hogwarts, Minerva McGonagall had actually dismissed a class before the end of the designated lesson time. She hadn't been able to think of what else to do. Once the class had gone apart from Harry and Ron, she'd sent the two boys to her office and escorted Pettigrew - whose mumbling, gibbering and pleading had seemed far from sane - to the hospital wing. Once there, and once the Headmaster had arrived, the most incredible story had unfolded.

The story of how Pettigrew had realised what Black had done and gone to confront him. Of how Black had easily disarmed him and taunted him with how he would turn him into a rat, so that when he killed him, no-one would find a body. How peter had severed his own finger with a pocket knife so that someone would know what had happened to him and Sirius would be caught. How Sirius had followed through with his taunt and transfigured him, then cast the spell which had blown up the street, killing twelve Muggles and throwing Peter into the air. How he'd woken up, still a rat and unable to communicate his plight to anyone. How he'd found the Weasleys and hoped the family would notice his above average intelligence and would work it out. 

It was a story that made sense. But it was still incredible. That Black had been able to transfigure Peter was not surprising; to this day Minerva quietly, and now ashamedly counted Sirius Black amongst her most talented students. She had fully expected him to pursue the path to becoming an animagus upon leaving school, and had been disappointed when the reference request from the Animagus Registration Department at the Ministry had not landed on her desk.

What was incredible, truly and utterly incredible, was that Peter had been sane and human enough to tell the story at all. Never had she ever heard of a person having been transfigured for so long and keeping so much of their human mind. He hadn't kept it all poor man, nor had he managed to lose some fragments of his rat appearance, too long had he been out of human shape. To speak in technicalities, his morphic field had lost cohesion and was drifting into resonance with the stable physical form. In other words, much longer and even the natural state spell wouldn't have brought him back. 

His recovery would be long, and likely arduous. But with specialist help he would probably make a full one. Until such time as St Mungos had an appropriate bed for him however, he was being cared for here at the school by Madame Pomfrey, and since he was in the building, getting to know Harry. 

Not that Harry seemed to be overly keen on getting to know his father's childhood friend in return. Minerva had actually overheard the boy describe Peter as creepy to his friends and his reluctance to spend time with the man was obvious. Not that she blamed him; with his ratty mannerism, nervous twitches, overly eager and clingy attempts at physical contact, rodent like affectations in his appearance as well as the scars from the odd bout of mange and his rambling hyperactive speech, Peter was indeed, very creepy. In a pathetic and well meaning kind of way. 

Over all though, she was sure even Harry would admit that Peter's return was a good thing. Not least of all, in Minerva's opinion, because it had distracted Harry and his friends from the issue of the Chamber of Secrets. 

Unfortunately, given that it was very late in the evening, all of her students had been accounted for in their dorms and yet she had just been summoned to the Headmaster's office she had a sinking suspicion that perhaps he had not been so distracted as she thought. That a stoic, but equally uninformed Severus Snape was walking beside her rather led credence to that supposition. A serious matter between students of their houses they would have known about before now. A serious matter concerning the entire school would have warranted a meeting with all four heads of house. A matter concerning the daily running of the school would not have required Severus' presence nor would it have required a late night summons. 

A matter requiring both their presence, and at such a late hour could only mean something not school related, but related to a certain Dark Wizard, his followers, and more recently to Harry Potter. 

Whatever that boy had done now to get himself into trouble, Minerva was sorely tempted to let Severus have at him. He clearly wasn't listening to _her._

~HpɸqH~

 

When the Heads of Slytherin and Gryffindor Houses finally arrived at the office of the Headmaster, it was to find the man looking about as agitated as either could remember seeing him. Not that anyone else would think he was all that agitated. Professor Albus Dumbledore was not a man to flap and carry on even in the direst circumstances. Instead he had a habit of movement. When something troubled his mind he would move. Pace his office or wander the school. For a man of his age, he had a surprising level of mobility.

Standing just inside the doorway, the two Heads of House glanced warily at each other, noted that the other also seemed concerned at the Headmaster's apparent unease and shared a rare look of mutual understanding. 

And it was rare indeed. Personally, Severus found McGonagall to be too insufferably Gryffindor for his liking, and Minerva considered Snape to be infuriatingly Slytherin most of the time. Both had often privately noted that no better candidate could ever have been chosen to head their respective Houses, so completely did they encompass the values and characteristics of their House. 

Although in saying that, both held the other in the highest regard professionally. Snape still often found himself viewing the deputy headmistress with the same respect and awe with which he had viewed her when she had taught him. He had no idea how old she was, and was too much of gentleman to have ever asked, but he knew she had worked for the Ministry for many years before coming to Hogwarts, and yet like Dumbledore, her face, poise, energy and mind belied little of what had to be an advanced age. And she was clearly powerful. Not as powerful as Dumbledore - In Snape's own lifetime he could think of only two who could have been considered Dumbledore's equal in that respect, and both were now dead. Lord Voldermort and Lily Evans, who later became Lily Potter. But Minerva was close to it although she rarely demonstrated that power. 

Minerva in turn knew more about Severus Snape than he likely realised she did. She knew he'd walked some dark paths in his youth, and whatever had driven the young man to turn away from that darkness, she respected him highly for the strength of character it would have taken to turn his back on the temptations that had been placed before him. She saw in Severus Snape a good man. A man that could be trusted and a man who had made his own choices, ones which he fully accepted responsibility for. Oh yes he was Slytherin - ambitious, determined, wily and cunning - but he was no Dark Wizard. Whether he had been in the past or not was irrelevant, he was not one _now_. His appointment as Head of House had pleased her greatly. If anyone could lift the curse that had fallen upon that House, dispel the false perception held both within and without that it was the nest from which all Dark Wizards hatched, it was Severus Snape. 

That Dumbledore trusted him with matters pertaining to the fight against Dark Wizardry spoke volumes, for it was something the Headmaster would not entrust to just anyone. It was not a fight Albus Dumbledore was willing to lose. 

And whatever had happened that required their presence now; it was clearly something dire indeed. 

Catching each other's eye once again, the two senior teachers shared another look, this time of exasperated impatience, and Minerva pursed her lips. Snape would not speak first as he was least senior person in the room, and if Severus had nothing else it was impeccable manners and absolute professionalism around his colleagues and superiors. So it was down to her. 

"You wished to see us Headmaster?"

"What?" Dumbledore, startled out of his pacing and muttering, blinked and sighed. His face collapsed to an expression of one deeply troubled and he absently waved his hand to conjure a couch before waving them towards it. "Yes, Yes. My apologies, please take a seat you two." Moving to his desk, he picked up a bowl and offered its contents. "Bon Bon?"

Minerva raised her hand and shook her head to decline. 

"Melanie Applegate in Sixth year brought me a selection back with her when she returned from visiting her family last weekend." Dumbledore explained as he offered the bowl to Snape who merely flicked his eyes up at the Headmaster with an un-amused expression. "Sure? No? Pity. These are truly quite delicious. For all the creativity and wonder of our own confections, I must admit that Muggles have a certain talent for creating truly delightful sweets."

"Headmaster." Snape drawled impatiently. "Perhaps it would be prudent to explain why we have been summoned?"

Minerva had to admit that if Severus hadn't said it, she would have. 

"Quite. Again I feel I must apologise. But the news I have recently received has disturbed me greatly. And I am at a loss as to how to explain it." Dumbledore sighed again as he moved lean on the edge of his desk. He was clearly too distressed to sit. Facing the pair on the couch he began to explain. "Shortly before I summoned you here, I received a firecall from the Minister of Magic himself. He felt that the news he had to deliver should be delivered in person, but given the circumstances, he could not spare the time for a sit down meeting."

Expectantly, Minerva sat forward and waited. 

"Not two hours ago," Dumbledore continued, "The Minister was informed that a prisoner had escaped from the maximum security wing in Azkaban."

"Surely that isn't possible!?" Minerva near enough yelped standing up. Now she understood why Albus had been pacing. She felt the uncanny urge to pace herself. 

"Apparently, it is." Snape remarked calmly, earning a withering look from the Deputy Headmistress. "I assume that the identity of the escapee is of some specific significance?"

"Indeed it is Severus, although I too share Minerva's astonishment at the feat." Dumbledore replied to both of their comments.

"Then who is it?" Minerva demanded to be told, her mind racing through all the death-eaters and murderers she could recall having been sent to Azkaban. None, as far as she could recall would have had the kind of power and ingenuity that surely would have been required to slip the confines of a place like Azkaban. 

"Sirius Black." Dumbledore intoned bluntly. 

Minerva had to find her seat again quite rapidly at that pronouncement. "No..."

"I am sure you can now see why I am so concerned." Dumbledore looked between his two most trusted senior teachers with worried eyes. 

"Headmaster." Snape spoke up smoothly. "As you said the escape was no more than two hours ago. He would not have been able to get far in that time. He will surely be recovered swiftly. Is there truly any need for such concern?"

"Ah Severus." Dumbledore sighed again. "If that were the case then indeed there would not be the need for so much concern, as I too have faith in our Aurors to catch a man with a mere two hour head start. However, just as the Minister informed me, I in fact stated that the Minister _was informed_ of the escape two hours ago, only minutes after the prison authorities became aware of it themselves. Unfortunately, the last time anyone can say for certain that Black was in his cell, was more than a week ago."

"He could be anywhere!" Minerva gasped. 

"Not anywhere. I suspect, and the Minister agrees, that he likely has a specific target in mind." Dumbledore informed them. 

"You don't think he'd come here?" Minerva managed it a voice barely above a shocked whisper. Then pulled herself together with a visible shake. Yes this was shocking, and truly dire news, but she was not some swooning maiden out of a Muggle romance novel, and would not be seen behaving as such. "Sirius Black is more aware than most of the security surrounding this school. He tested its limits on more than one occasion while he was a student. He would surely not be so foolish as to come here now, when we know to be looking for him."

"Black," Snape cut in with audible contempt, "was not entirely blessed with sense to begin with. What little he did have has likely been stripped from him along with his sanity by the Dementors. I hardly think it wise to count on reason in this matter."

"Might I remind you Severus, that he had enough sense and reason to be able to escape Azkaban in the first place, and I hardly think it _wise_ to forget that either." Minerva snapped back. 

"You are both correct." Dumbledore stepped in to recover the situation. "We cannot assume anything in this case. None of us can safely say we knew or understood the motives of Sirius Black before he betrayed the Potters and was sent to Azkaban, to think that we do now would be the deepest folly."

Minerva huffed. "So what should we do?" 

"Prepared for the worst, hope for the best." Dumbledore replied sympathetically. "The best, as far as we're concerned of course being that Black is recaptured quickly, failing that he flees the country. Not ideal admittedly."

"And the worst?" Snape asked in a tone which suggested he already knew the answer, but would rather not be the one to say it. 

"Harry." Minerva's shoulders dropped sadly. "He'll come after Harry."

"To avenge his fallen master or under the mistaken belief that Harry's demise will bring Voldermort back. That is a possibility that I have discussed with the Minister." Dumbledore nodded in agreement. 

"We must also consider the timing of this escape." Snape mused with narrowed thoughtful eyes. "It could be just coincidence of course, but considering that Pettigrew's survival has only been common knowledge for a matter weeks surely I am not the only one to think Black may have escaped to finish what he started."

"Even if he hadn't known before he escaped, there's a good chance he'd be aware of it by now," Minerva noted with alarm, "There is no way Peter would be able to defend himself in his current condition." 

"Which is why I have decided to request that Peter remain here until the crisis has passed."The Headmaster soothed. "It may delay his recovery, but he is safer here than at St Mungos. The Minister is however more concerned about Harry, and although I have assured him that here at school is the safest place for the boy, and that we will put additional measures in place to make sure that is so, he has insisted that a contingent of Dementors take up station around the school. He has however conceded to my insistence that they not be allowed onto the grounds themselves."

"I should hope not." Minerva bristled. "This is a school! To expose the children to Dementors... Believe me I am as concerned as anyone for Harry's well being, and Peter's, but that is extreme to say the least."

"I did argue this point Minerva." Dumbledore firmly defended himself against the unspoken accusation. "However the Minister would not be moved. The Ministry must be seen to be doing all that it can to apprehend Black, and although the relationship and true significance of the connection between Black and Potter is known to only a select few, Sirius' loyalty to the Dark Lord and thus his likely hatred of Harry will be assumed by many... By the way, I've been meaning to ask. I know you spoke to Harry following Pettigrew's reappearance but how much does he actually know?"

"All of it." The stern witch replied, raising her chin. "At least as much as I myself know. I could hardly not tell him, not when the chances are he would find out from Peter anyway. Far better to have heard it properly, and explained calmly, than to have bombshells dropped on him by a man not enough in his right mind to temper his words to fit the youth of the one he spoke to."

"All of it?" Snape enquired with a sceptically raised eyebrow. "Even that Black is his..."

"Godfather. Yes. All of it Severus. As I said, better to have it come from me, than for him to hear it in passing from Peter." 

Once again, the silver haired wizard stepped in to prevent a flaring of tempers. "Might I suggest then Minerva that you speak to Harry before he ventures down for breakfast tomorrow? The news of Black's escape will surely be in the morning edition of the Prophet. For the self same reason, I will be calling a meeting of all Staff at 6am. The Dementors will likely be here before dawn, I would not wish to alarm the rest of the staff unduly."

"Of course." The deputy headmistress nodded, subsiding. 

"Well that leaves just one last matter to attend to. Discussion on increasing security for the students can wait until the morning, however this cannot, for there is one other possible target for Black that unfortunately I believe the Ministry will overlook." At the confused looks of his two Heads of House, Dumbledore sighed sadly. The Ministry were clearly not the only ones to overlook this person. Severus he could well understand, but the Headmaster found himself slightly disappointed in Minerva. Although he supposed, she did not know what he knew. "I of course refer to the last Marauder."

Snape's eyes narrowed while Minerva's widened. 

Their words came at the same time. 

Snape's a sneer."Lupin." 

Minerva's a gasp of realisation."Remus!"

"Indeed." Dumbledore confirmed. "I fear, due to unjust prejudices" the ancient wizard chose to ignore Snape's scoff "held by those at the Ministry, it will be left to us to find means of ensuring Mr Lupin's safety."

"Do we even know if he's still alive?" Snape asked with bland callousness. 

"Although I myself haven't seen or heard from him in a number of years. Not since the Potters wake in fact. I believe he is yes. I know that Minerva has received the occasional Christmas card over the years." The Headmaster glanced at his deputy for confirmation. 

"Not for a few years though." Minerva confirmed with a mix of guilt and sadness. "Although I did see him briefly in Diagon Ally not so very long ago. I'm afraid I can't recall when exactly. It was shortly after his mother passed away I remember that." 

Albus nodded thoughtfully, then let his eyes meet those of the potions master, a clear warning to Severus not to be difficult in their depths. 

Severus either didn't get, or chose to ignore the message. "That he was alive a few years ago does not guarantee that he is alive now. And you have no way of knowing for sure."

"Alas. I do not. Other than to check when he last registered with the Ministry. Still, I would ask you to use whatever resources at your disposal to find him, so he might be encouraged to return to the school for his own protection. And before you say it Severus, I am aware that in physical strength Sirius was no match for Remus even before his time in Azkaban, but I feel it prudent to inform you that I do not believe that should it come down to it, Remus would be able to harm Sirius, even to save his own life. I do not believe the wolf would allow it."


	3. Pride and Prejudice

December had hit London bitterly cold. Buildings creaked under the strain of holding their heat within against the bitter onslaught of the cold without. The wind whipped viciously, stinging with ice. There was no snow on the ground to pretty this picture. Black was the ice which gritting Lorries tried desperately to thwart. 

It was only just eleven, and yet already the windscreens and bonnets of the cars parked against the curbs were thick with hardened frost. And it was against this bitter chill that Remus Lupin pulled his threadbare jacket close around his thin frame as he stepped out of the back door of the small Tesco Metro and strode purposely around the building and away from his place of work. 

Work. It was work. It was a job and it paid minimum wage and it was enough. The small supermarket attached to the petrol station had given him employment for over two years now. A whole two years employed and Tricia the duty manager on his shift had even been making hints about promoting him. Getting him till trained. 

He'd finished Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry with thirteen OWL's and Five Newts, all of them Outstanding. Any other wizard would have been flying high through a profession of their choice by now. Hell, on those few occasions these days when he bothered to pick up a copy of the Daily Prophet he nearly always found a story somewhere about one of his peers. Professor this, or Under-secretary that. Aurors, Ministers, Businessmen. Success accompanied Hogwarts graduates like flies followed cattle. But not him. No the best he could hope for was to actually hold a job for more than a couple of months. The idea of promotion? Of better pay than the barest minimum? That had seemed beyond his reach for so long he'd practically forgotten what it meant. 

It wasn't that he was lazy, or a thief, or had a tendency to sexually harass his co-workers; the usual things that would hinder a person in pursuing a career. He was about as far from being any of those things as it was possible to be. He didn't have a criminal record to hold him back; in fact he'd only ever knowingly or deliberately committed one crime - granted he'd committed it repeatedly, but his options were limited - and he'd never been caught. 

What he was, was a Werewolf. Not by birth, but as a result of a vicious attack when he was but a small child. And despite his parents’ best efforts to give him a normal life and every advantage they could, life was rarely fair, kind or normal for his like. On graduating he'd tried to find work in the Wizarding world. But even when an employer would overlook what he was, the jobs never lasted. People, colleagues or customers found out about him and complained. Or his employers would become frustrated with his need to take off the two days surrounding the full moon. Sometimes his employer or manager would change after he'd been hired, and he'd simply find his belongings on the curb and entry into his place of work blocked. 

At first he'd been so angry about it. So angry that he was so well qualified and yet more often than not he would find himself out of work, penniless and forced to rely on the generosity of his friends. Forced to live off his lover. A leach. A freeloader. His pride had raged. His self esteem so painstakingly built up over the years he'd spent at Hogwarts had faltered and begun to fail. 

Time had passed since then. So much time. It had been fifteen years since he'd first left school. He was thirty three years old now. He somehow felt an awful lot older. 

So much had happened since those wonderful years at school. His small family which had been built on ties of friendship rather than blood was all gone now. Lost to the war that had raged throughout his time at school and beyond; the war against likely one of the Darkest Wizards ever to walk the earth and his devoted, blood thirsty followers. 

Voldermort and his death-eaters took everyone he held dear within just a few years of his finishing school. Murdered or turned to the darkness. Rotting, each and every one of them; in the ground or in a prison cell. 

And he'd just kept going. Full moon to full moon. Day after day. Trying to keep his head above water. Trying to understand the enormity of the losses he'd suffered. Eleven years now since the end of the war. And yet, the last eleven years had been far harder than the ones that came before. If he'd thought he'd known prejudice before the end of the war, it was nothing compared to after. So many of his kind had sided with Voldermort, it wasn't surprising that once the immediate crisis had past, the murderous and the treacherous imprisoned and the rebuilding had begun that new laws began to appear. 

The Control of Dangerous Creatures Act was perhaps the most inhibiting of all. At least for him. He'd been forced to register himself with the Ministry. On a register which any employer could check. Hell that any member of the public was allowed to check. If that indignity wasn't enough, the law also stated that the penalty for not disclosing what he was to a future employer when applying for a job, or to a Ministry official when applying for any kind of license, permit or official documentation, was imprisonment in Azkaban; the length of the sentence left to the discretion of the presiding warlock. 

It was like doors just slammed shut wherever he turned. He couldn't even get an interview let alone a job. He'd never had much in the way of money and his pitiful savings had been swallowed within weeks. The Muggle world had been his last hope, but the law was very clear on that too. Wizards wishing to work in the Muggle world, even if they were Muggle-born, had to apply through the Ministry. _They_ would then make the appropriate applications on the Witch or Wizard's behalf, set up interviews and provide carefully monitored placements. The third time Remus visited the Ministry to find out what was happening with his application, only to be told it appeared to have been misplaced, he'd realised it was a lost cause. 

So he'd taken one of the biggest risks of his life. He'd deliberately, consciously and knowingly broken the law. He'd headed out into Muggle London one bright June afternoon, and gone looking for a job.

Two weeks later, he'd had enough money to buy a single foot passenger ticket on a cross channel ferry and had spent the next few years odd jobbing as his hiked, hitched and only occasionally apparated his way around Europe, careful to avoid any and all authorities, Muggle and Wizarding alike. 

It hadn't been easy, and some of it had been deeply unpleasant. He'd slept rough, exposed to the elements, more often than he would like to recall and the full moons had been especially trying at times. But he'd managed. He'd found ways, sometimes less than preferable ways, to cope and keep other people safe from the beast inside him which raged against his humanity.

That had been his life pretty much ever since. He'd had to come back to Wizarding Britain now and then of course. To update his registration with the Ministry (and pay the mandatory fee for the privilege of course), to collect his accumulated mail being kept at the owl office, to visit one of his favourite places of all, the Great Library and to generally get caught up on the happenings in the Wizarding world. The fine he'd incurred for missing his registration date after being stuck in Norway due to bad weather one time (and the two weeks he'd been held unofficially in a Ministry holding cell while they processed the fine) had been enough to curb his travelling, but he'd continued to live and work in the Muggle world. 

It was that or venture down paths he'd sworn to himself he'd never seriously consider. The kind of paths Remus knew most of his kind eventually found themselves walking. The kind of paths that took a man down Knockturn Ally at 2am. He might be breaking the law with what he was doing, but quite frankly he'd been left little choice. And at least he could honestly say he wasn't hurting anyone. 

Perhaps it was for that reason, or perhaps it was because the officers of the Department of Magical Law enforcement had far better things to do than chase down one lone wizard stacking shelves in a Muggle supermarket, but thankfully, for whatever reason, even after coming back to Britain he'd been left to get on undisturbed. 

Not that things had been that much easier in the Muggle world, truth be told. Initially the jobs had been as difficult to keep as they had been in the Wizarding world. Temperamental cash in hand jobs to start with, the legality of which were sometimes slightly questionable. His employers, already twitchy, would get nervous when he would ask for a couple of days off and then return looking the worse for wear. One of his employers had accused him of being on drugs before showing him the door, another he'd overheard telling his wife he thought Remus was involved with violent crime. He'd worked in one place where the owner's daughter had thought he was part of a satanic cult, and been so frightened of him she'd refused to work in the shop herself unless Remus was fired. 

And that was when he even managed to get a job. The scars on his face proved a huge hindrance. There weren't many people who wanted someone who looked like he did greeting their customers. Then there was his lack of qualifications. Sure he had thirteen OWL's and five NEWT's, but they meant precisely nothing in the Muggle world. They wanted things called GCSE's and A Levels, which Remus did not have, and did not have the spare cash to enrol in classes to get. So he'd been left with stacking shelves, washing dishes, unloading vans, delivering newspapers, labouring on building sites, shearing sheep (that job hadn't lasted long; sheep were not as stupid as people thought, and were not about to let themselves get sheared by a wolf) and picking vegetables. Often mind numbing, incurably tedious, backbreaking and poorly paid. 

But it was work. And it had paid. It had paid him enough that he'd been able to get his tiny basement bedsit, with running water, gas and electricity. Those three utilities, or more importantly the fact he had his name on the bills for those three utilities had enabled him to get a bank account, which had opened him up to being able to get a better job. Being suspected of being a Satanist had been galling (once he'd understood what it meant) but it had sown the seeds of an idea. 

A little research, a little checking and Remus had turned up for his interview at the supermarket armed with a plan. Thankfully the store manager and his shift supervisor were fairly open minded people, and were accommodating of his request that he be allowed the day before and after the full moon each month for religious observance. Telling them he followed a pagan faith had raised a few eyebrows, but then Trish had joked that she'd had weirder requests made of her for religious reasons, ones far less easy to work around. He hadn't asked what those were, but he knew one of the employees on the morning shift who refused point blank to touch any product containing pork or shellfish and tended to get into a mood when asked to do anything to the displays for Christmas or Easter.

So it was safe to say the last couple of years had been the most settled he'd had since leaving school. Fairly regular hours, regular pay, regular meals. All of which meant he'd been able to something he hadn't been able to do for some time. Save. 

Save for the thing that could make his life so much better. He'd only tried it one time and the effect had been incredible. He'd used all the money he'd had at the time to do it; had had to give up the room he'd been renting and had slept on the floor of a little used storeroom at the factory he'd been working in for weeks as a result. But it had been worth it then and a few missed meals this time were worth it now. Especially as he'd saved enough not just for one month’s supply, but six. 

Six months of peace. Six months of being able to face the full moon without fear of tearing himself or anyone else to pieces in the throes of the wolf's monstrous wild rage. 

So yes it was cold, yes it probably would be more comfortable to be sitting in his flat wrapped up in blankets, a charmed 'flame in a jar' keeping him warm as he curled up with a book, and no he wasn't entirely happy going where he knew he would have to go to get what he needed. 

But he was doing it anyway. 

Reaching a secluded side street, Remus reached inside of his jacket, pulled out his wand and held it straight out into the road, whilst looking in the direction any traffic would be coming from. Slipping his wand away again, he checked again the bulging envelope in his inside jacket pocket, just to make sure it was there, before leaning against a nearby lamppost to wait; arms folded tightly over his chest and hands tucked under his armpits in an attempt to ward off the chill. 

The constant rushing sound of the city traffic filled the background of the frigid night. Time became elastic. His anticipation made him impatient, his fatigue made him drowsy. Waiting made seconds seem like days. Somewhere in the distance a dog barked. A siren wailed.

The wind seemed to drop ever so slightly. The streetlight flickered. Remus pushed away from where he leant and adjusted the bag over his shoulder.

And from around the corner a dark blue triple-decker route-master bus skidded into the street, wobbled precariously as it came out of the turn and slid to an abrupt halt in front of him. 

"Welcome to the Knightbus. Emergency Transport for the stranded witch or wizard. My name is Terry Falkirk and I will be your conductor for this evening."

Remus ignored the bored tone of the elderly conductor and offered him a weak smile as he boarded the bus. 

"Where to?"

"The leaky cauldron please." Remus replied politely, offering a quiet thank-you once the conductor handed him his ticket with a grunt. Heading for the stairs he made his way straight to the top deck, found a seat, bought his bag in front of him and wrapping his arms tightly around it, promptly fell asleep. 

He didn't wake up again until the conductor poked him in the shoulder and gruffly demanded he get off the bus.

~HpɸqH~

 

Goblins did not believe in opening hours. Gold was just as valuable to them at night as it was by day, and they didn't much care who gave it to them either. It was for this reason that Gringotts Bank had two public entrances. The main entrance, with its grand foyer and regal colonnaded facade on Diagon Ally, and a side entrance, which was a simple wooden door coming off a lesser known side street not 50 yards around the corner. The Night Bank entrance.

It was through this door that Remus tiredly stepped, welcoming the warmth of the indoors after trekking the length of Diagon Ally from the Leaky Cauldron. In deference perhaps to the fact that this part of the bank tended to serve the more nocturnal of its clientele, the lamps were always kept low in the Night Bank. In deference to the fact that Wizards were not fond of being reminded that such nocturnal denizens existed and that Goblins were willing to serve them, there was no public access from the Night Bank to the main bank. There was no deference in mind when it came to the position and heights of the counters. Goblins spent the majority of the lives being looked down upon; here to see the ones with power over power itself, very few didn't have to look up. Remus was clear of six feet in height, but he still had to take three steps back and crane his neck to see the Goblin at the one open cashier’s desk. 

It was, to Remus' mind, an inspired bit of bloody minded 'so there' psychology on the Goblins' part. 

"Yes?" The Goblin bit out impatiently. 

Fishing the precious envelope from inside his jacket pocket, Remus plastered a polite smile on his face. "I'd like to exchange some Muggle money."

The Goblin narrowed its eyes. "For deposit or cash?"

"Cash... please." Remus answered, as charmingly as he could. Goblins could be difficult, and if this one felt any reason to be officious, it could insist he deposit it. Which wasn't so much of a problem in that he had an account (not a vault but a deposit box on the first level - he'd never had enough money to require a vault) but he'd rather not have a record of his transactions. Questions could be raised as to where he got the money in the first place. 

"How much?" The Goblin snapped, breaking Remus from his thoughts. 

"Two thousand, one hundred and fifty pounds." Remus replied, clarifying quickly when the Goblin began to look annoyed. "Sterling." 

That was all of it. Everything he'd managed to save in two years. Apart from the cost of his rent that he'd left in his Muggle bank account and the seventeen pounds and an assortment of copper he had in his wallet to last him until next pay day. He didn't count on eating well this month. 

The Goblin made a considering noise and looked up to study a board on the wall before beginning to make calculations on the parchment in front of him. Remus found his eyes drawn the board as the Goblin worked; the brass plates which held the numbers sat in neat rows, but occasionally one would rattle round to a new figure. Exchange rates. Wizard money was wizard money wherever you went in the Wizarding world; Remus guessed this was because the Goblins dealt with it all, and there was only one Wizarding Bank. Muggles on the other hand had thousands of banks, in hundreds of countries each with its own currency, the value of which seemed to change by the minute. That the Goblins knew about this and worked with this system came as no surprise to anyone; many suspected they ran half the Muggle banks anyway. The board rattled again. Thankfully, the line for Pounds Stirling didn't move. 

"Four hundred and fourteen Galleons, nine Sickles and one Knut." The Goblin announced, in its nasal, bored and slightly contemptuous monotone. "Commission at five point five percent."

Although he'd known it would come in at something around that figure, Remus still felt disappointed it hadn't been more. Handing over the envelope, he sighed, stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets.

"Wait please." 

A rather pointless thing for the Goblin to say in his opinion; he'd just handed over his life savings, he wasn't about to walk out. As the Goblin counted the notes from the bundle in the envelope, Remus looked away, letting his eyes roam around the room, settle on the twitching numbers on the exchange board for a while before drifting away again. 

He barely noticed when the Goblin began to count out the Wizarding money, although there was something distinctly comforting in the sound of the coins chinking together. Muggle money, no matter how hard he worked for it, never seemed entirely real. Just like the Muggle world never seemed quite real. Stifling, restricted and prejudiced though the Wizarding world might be, it was still home. If he could, he'd come back here. If he could get a job, earn a living, have any kind of life here, he would. But he couldn't, so he would make do as best he could. 

Starting tonight, that should be easier. 

Taking the bag the Goblin held out to him (he really should have remembered to watch the Goblin counting out his money. Well he'd find out soon enough if he'd been diddled) the tall, sandy haired werewolf left the bank, and began the long walk back up Diagon Ally towards his next destination. He had no worries about it being closed. Shops in respectable areas might close up in the early evening, but where he was headed was not a respectable area. 

Oh no, not by any stretch of the imagination could Knockturn Ally be considered respectable. It was however the one place he could get what he needed. Respectable establishments in respectable areas would not after all, lower themselves to making something designed specifically for a dark creature. Should any proprietor feel so inclined to do so and word got out, their regular clientele would simply evaporate. So that left only those kinds of places where they didn’t ask questions, where they didn’t care who they served or for what purpose their wears were to be put. As long as the customer had the money to pay for it, they were happy to sell to anyone. 

Knockturn Ally was lined with places like that. Due to its very nature it was not somewhere to be entered lightly. In truth there were only two ways to do it. Be seen, and be seen as too dangerous to mess with, or not to be seen at all. He was too tall, too obvious to hide, so taking on an air he really didn't feel, he strode purposefully into the gloom. He might have appeared to be swaggering confidently towards his destination, but his eyes never truly left the shadows. It was never wise to ignore the shadows in Knockturn Ally. 

It was not shadows however that caught his attention before he reached his destination. Shouts could be heard ahead through the fog. Angry shouts, the sounds of breaking glass. Foot falls. The sound of a splintering door. 

More shouts and through the fog, between himself and his destination, Remus could make out figures in smart suits, lots of them. He watched two of them apparate with a struggling man held between them. It was a raid. What department and for what reason he couldn't tell, but he wasn't going to hang around to find out. After all, he was where he was, and even though it was not quite 2am, it was close enough to discount the difference. He doubted anyone would bother giving him the chance to explain. 

Turning on his heel, he didn't bother about swagger, just speed. Around him he felt the shadows move. He got the distinct impression that those lurking within them were doing rapid fire calculations between the benefits of mugging a target that turned out to be less intimidating than they'd initially believed, or doing a runner from whatever it was that had scared said target into turning tail. He smirked when he realised the shadows were all suddenly empty. _'Good call.'_

By the time he reached safer territory, disappointment had begun to set in. Fear of being caught somewhere he really shouldn’t be, and the consequences of that had turned into a familiar gut plummeting sensation of anticipation unfulfilled, hope dimmed. Like a child who'd been allowed to see their Christmas gift and then been informed they had to wait until Christmas day to actually have it, he felt an almost overwhelming sense of anti-climax and impatient frustrated longing. For weeks he'd been gearing up for this. For weeks he had waited for this last pay cheque to arrive knowing it would give him just enough achieve his goal. He'd been able to think of nothing else for days. And although he knew academically that he would only need to wait a few hours until the start of a new day, those hours felt like agonising eons. 

That was of course if the shop was even there in the morning. He hadn’t been able to tell from his vantage point exactly which building those Ministry officials had been raiding. 

His fingers were going numb. Looking up he caught sight of a bright crescent moon letting him know that this night would only get colder. Werewolf he might be, but he was not immune to the cold. He was torn. He wanted to go home. The Knightbus would be cheaper than Muggle public transport, but he could ill afford unnecessary journeys using either currency. And whichever he chose he would end up paying twice more again as he would have to come back in the morning anyway, and then get home again. Better to stay put, but the thought of sleeping outside made him shiver harder. 

His wandering feet had apparently had more sense than his head however, as they had brought him back to the Leaky Cauldron. The dim glow of lamps visible through the frosty windows drawing him closer like a moth to flame. 

The warmth, the smell of the place seemed to hit him like running into a wall as he slipped in through the back door. The Leaky Cauldron never really closed, although it didn’t exactly look open right now. Chairs and stools on tables, a mop running itself around the floors. The fire was still going, but had been left to reduce to mostly embers and a few determined little flames in the large grate. It was an Inn though, so someone needed to be around through the night for the guests staying in the rooms upstairs, and that someone was sat on a high stool behind the bar, one elbow resting on the counter as he perused a copy of the Quibbler. 

“Well now. I’d say I’m surprised but I’m not. Half expected to see you sooner or later.”

Remus spun round at the unexpected voice behind him and found himself facing an older man with no hair and a friendly smile marred by the fact that the few teeth the man had were cracked and broken. He must be tired; he hadn’t even noticed there was anyone there. Confusion washed over Remus in a heartbeat, the man’s words ringing worryingly in his head. He’d never been what you might call a regular in the Leaky Cauldron, although he’d walked through many times. For the old Landlord to remember him was slightly disturbing. He must see thousands of faces every day. “Tom.”

“Never been one to forget a face me.” The man commented idly, gesturing with sweeping hand for Remus to take a seat in a booth not far from the fire. “And yours Remus Lupin is slightly more recognisable than most. Not that that’s why I remember you mind.” As Remus sat, Tom did too, turning to the man behind the bar and yelling out as he did. “Mickey! Pull your nose out of that bloody rag of yours and bring this man a sommit warm to drink!” Turning back to Remus, Tom rolled his eyes. “My sister’s husband’s brother’s boy. Bloody useless. Head in the clouds that one. But beggars can’t be choosers. No-one wants to be working nights these days. Not since... well you know.”

Actually he didn’t know, but Remus let it pass. He was more curious now why he’d been remembered. He wasn’t used to being remembered. “I’m surprised you remember me. I can’t remember us ever having spoken before.”

“What?” Tom frowned, and then shook his head. “Oh right. Well, no, we haven’t. But wasn’t likely to forget you four now was I? Regular as bleedin' clockwork you lot were. Week before that school of yours went back and here the four of you would be. Tryin' all kinds of spells and tricks get what you wanted.”

Remus raised his eyebrows. Tom wasn’t wrong, but he was still a little offended.

“That James Potter.” Tom chuckled wistfully, “Gotta hand it to him, he had balls of pure brass that one. Tried it on every-time. Cheeky little git, tryin' to buy firewhiskey when he weren’t even tall enough to see over the bar. And you and the little one would be yankin’ on his robes, tryin' to stop ‘im. Grew up well though din’e? Tragic loss that. Truly tragic.”

Remus reached up and took the mug being handed to him by the night barman who’d just appeared at his side, nodding his thanks, genuinely grateful for the distraction. Eleven years was a long time to mourn, but still whenever anyone mentioned James it hurt. James Potter had been his first real friend, and although Remus was an only child, he felt as if he’d lost a brother.

“You seen ‘is boy lately?” Tom suddenly spoke up, his tone thick with forced lightness. When Remus shook his head, Tom grinned. “Nice lad. Dead ringer for ‘is old man. Shy little thing though, but I guess losing ‘is parents the way ‘e did would do that wouldn’t it? When he come in ‘ere not the summer gone but summer ‘fore, I thought the poor lad looked ‘bout ready to crawl into Hagrid’s beard to get away from everyone. Spent the entire time practically clingin’ the great oaf’s coat. But as I say, nice lad. Reckon his ol’ man would be proud of ‘im.”

For a moment while Tom talked Remus found himself confused, remembering that Harry was supposed to be living with his Muggle relatives. But then his sleepy mind caught up with the maths. Of course Harry would have started Hogwarts already. Hell, he’d be in his second year. It was hard to picture in his head. When Remus allowed himself to think of James and Lily’s son, the child Remus had adored, he thought of him as he remembered him. As a delightful smiling toddler. Not a boy almost in his teens.

“How comes you ain’t seen ‘im anyway?” Tom asked guilelessly. 

“I’ve been away for a while.” Remus replied cautiously, “Besides, my connection with Harry and his family became somewhat tenuous after James and Lily’s death.”

Tom just scoffed. “Nothin’ ten-u-ous ‘bout it. I seen you four. Like bruvvers. Even after you left school. I reckoned ‘fore now that he grew up callin’ you uncle or sommit. That’s why I weren’t surprised t'see you, see? You four always came together and what with havin’ met lil’ Harry now, and the dumpy one, Peter weren’t it? bein’ found alive and now Black escapin’...”

It was like the world suddenly turned into silly string. Remus blinked hoping everything would come back into focus. That his brain would point out that he had not just heard what he’d thought he’d heard and it was all just some fatigue induced hallucination. All the colour and warmth in his body that had returned since coming in from the cold seemed to drain away in an instant. Feelings, emotions kept tightly locked down in a secure little box at the back of his mind struggled against their confines, but were too busy fighting each other to overwhelm the prevailing shock and break free. 

Tom, looking up to see Remus’ face suddenly blanched. “Oh Blimey, you ‘ave been away a while in’t you?”


	4. And Good Will to All Men

Albus Dumbledore had always loved Christmas. He supposed it was the perpetual child in him, but despite his great years, for him the wonder and magic of the season never dimmed. It was the universal holiday. They called it Christmas, but the Wizarding world had never been particularly enamoured with any of the monotheistic faiths, Christianity in particular; Christians had an unfortunate history of being especially cruel to their kind. But this season, whatever it was called was special. It was the season of light in the darkness, of joy in trying times. That was what the Wizarding world celebrated, and had done from as far back as pagan times, with Solstice. The celebration of the days finally growing longer again, of the rebirth of the world. The season of hope. 

And hope was something everyone needed a little booster of at the moment. Even he, who loved the season so completely, was finding it hard to raise his cheer. He had too much on his mind for that. 

There was a Muggle expression; all things happened in threes. It would seem, that in this instance that the old saying was indeed correct. Three events, each of which would be worrying enough on its own, but having them all happen within weeks of each other was truly troubling. 

The Opening of the Chamber of Secrets.

The revelation that Peter Pettigrew had spent the last eleven years as the Weasley’s pet rat.

The escape from Azkaban of Sirius Black. 

Strangely, it was not the last which was so preoccupying the Headmaster’s mind, although many would assume it would be. He was confident in the security of his school, and then there were the Dementors guarding its borders. No, if Black was headed here, he would have a tough time getting close enough to do any damage. 

The Chamber was a more worrying concern. For years Albus had searched for its entrance. Ever since it had been opened fifty years before. Unfortunately, he had never found it. He had hoped in his early years of searching to find it that doing so would in some way prove Hagrid’s innocence. Never had he truly believed the half giant had been the one to unleash the monster. He’d been foolish, keeping that Acromantula inside the school, and the Headmaster had had little choice but to expel him for it, but no, Dumbledore did not believe the baby giant spider Hagrid had befriended had killed that poor girl then, nor did he believe that Hagrid had ever been anywhere near the Chamber of Secrets. 

In fact he was certain he knew exactly who it had been. Unfortunately he had no proof. The recent revelation that Harry was a Parselmouth was deeply worrying, but he did not think it was Harry who had opened the chamber knowingly or unknowingly either. No matter what the students might be whispering. There was someone, _something_ , darker and far more dangerous inside the castle unleashing the beast upon the students. 

And whatever, whoever it was needed to be stopped. Before someone actually died. 

Distracting him from this search however, was a mystery. An enigma, a riddle. Now Albus Dumbledore would admit that he was rather a fan of riddles. But this particular riddle confused him greatly. For weeks he’d turned it over and over in his mind. And what confused him most was that even though he felt he might have solved it, he could not reconcile it. If what he now suspected were true, then it made someone a liar, but the lie they’d told was an utterly pointless one. Why tell a lie if it gained nothing? 

That was a riddle in and of itself. 

Peering down from his vantage point into one of the school’s many small courtyards, Professor Dumbledore frowned as he watched the interaction between the two people he could see below. Harry Potter and Peter Pettigrew. His eyebrow twitched up in sudden realisation at what he saw. 

At first glance, it would seem Harry was showing off his admittedly beautiful owl, Hedwig, to his father’s old school friend. 

_At first glance._

Now Harry was not by nature a cruel child, but Dumbledore suddenly noted that perhaps Harry was not beyond inflicting subtle torment to rid himself of an unwelcome presence. Dumbledore had noted that Harry had been out in the courtyard with Hedwig before Peter’s arrival, but he also noted Harry did not stop playing with the bird even though Peter - whose ratty-ness was still quite marked - had spent more of the last five minutes cowering and twitching than he had in any kind of admiration. The message was clear. If Peter didn’t like what Harry was doing, then Peter could take himself somewhere else. 

Minerva was right. Rather than warming up to Peter as they had expected Harry to do given that the former rat was a link to his parents and had cared for them deeply - taking on a man of Sirius Black’s power in an effort to aid them no less - Harry had drawn further away. According to Minerva it took some amount of persuasion on her part to get Harry to visit with Peter now, even though Peter was most anxious to spend as much time as he could with the boy. Harry had clearly gone from merely finding the man creepy, to actively disliking him. 

How very curious.

~HpɸqH~

 

Holidays, for staff and students alike, always seemed to run away, like sand slipping through open fingers. One moment it was the end of term feast, and the next everyone was frantically preparing, or trying to ignore the fact that they should be preparing, to get back to work.

Given that only a handful of students and staff remained at the school over the holiday, it came as no surprise to anyone that most people tended to gravitate towards the great hall. Not just to eat, but to do homework, read, play chess, chat quietly, and generally be around other people. The school was too large, the common rooms and the staff lounge too empty when there were so few people about. It was eerie, lonely and disconcerting. 

It had long been observed that the oddest of friendships could be sparked up during this time. A Hufflepuff fourth year and Ravenclaw sixth year who otherwise would have had no reason to speak whatsoever, might suddenly spark up a conversation, find a shared interest and a friendship that would last well beyond school would be born. 

Not that this was likely to happen this year. Even by holiday standards the school was empty. With students being petrified by someone or something unknown in the castle, rumours of the heir of slytherin, Dementors on the borders and Sirius Black on the loose, the vast majority of parents had decided to have their children with them over the break, rather than leave them at the school. Many had even changed plans at the last minute, at some considerable financial loss, to bring their children home. 

So it was that only the barest handful still remained. And most of those were Weasleys. There were currently five of them at the school, and with the presence of Harry Potter, they made six currently sat at the end of the Gryffindor table closest to the teachers table. It seemed strangely daft to sit further away. 

Frowning down at his holiday homework, Ronald Weasley found himself lamenting the fact that the one who should have made their number seven, was one of those who’d gone home after a ‘last minutes change of plan’. Hermione Granger’s parents might be Muggles, but they clearly kept up with the Wizarding News and hadn’t felt comfortable with her staying at school with everything that was going on. 

If she’d been here, she could have helped with the essay. No doubt she’d already written hers. Hell, if she’d been here she would have made sure they’d already written theirs too. That was what Hermione did. She was the smart one out of the three of them. She was clearly mental, came up with the craziest ideas sometimes, but she was damned handy to have around when there was homework to be done. She was also a great friend, but no force on earth was going to make Ron admit that out loud. It was hard enough admitting it in his own head. 

Looking up, Ron let his eyes wander around the hall in boredom, looking for something else to stare at rather than his non-existent essay; a blank wall would do. What he saw however, made his eyes widen and ducking his head, reached over and gave Harry’s arm a nudge. 

“Hey!” Harry objected, looking up crossly at the boy opposite him who’d made him smudge his work. 

But Ron just shook his head at him. “Don’t look now, but Rat-boy just walked in.”

Rat-Boy. He probably should have said Rat-Man, there was very little boy in the hunched figure who was slowly making his way down between the long tables. Very little boy, but a hell of a lot of rat. Protruding front teeth, long gingery hair that fell in thin straggles made even more prominent by the numerous large bald patches on the man’s head. Hairy hands, hunched shoulders and long yellow finger nails. Even upright and in a suit the man looked like a rat. 

Just looking at him made Ron feel a plethora of mixed emotions. None of them particularly good. Scabbers had been his pet Rat for almost as long as he could remember. People like Hermione and Harry, they didn’t understand that it was possible to feel lonely even with six siblings. They didn’t understand that having so many brothers and sisters didn’t mean he’d always had a gaggle of playmates around. There were ten years between himself and Bill, his eldest sibling, and for as far back as Ron could remember, Bill had been away at school most of the time. As had Charlie his second eldest sibling. The gap between himself and Percy hadn’t been large enough for Percy to see the fun in playing with a baby, or small enough that they had anything in common, the twins had always had each other so that had left Ron with Ginny, a year younger than him, but she was a _Girl._

So Scabbers had been his friend. His companion. His confidante and co-conspirator. He’d saved up his pocket money every week so he could buy things for him. He’d got into a full on brawl with the twins in order to rescue Scabbers when the twins had threatened to turn him into soup - and taking on two of them when he’d been just eight and they’d been ten was no small feat. Scabbers had slept on his Pillow every night, gone everywhere with him. He’d read to Scabbers from the Daily Prophet when his dad was done reading it, and felt so proud of himself because his rat really seemed to enjoy it.

He’d loved that Rat. But Scabbers had turned out to be a _person_. And now he felt... he didn’t really understand what he felt. Cheated. Angry. Embarrassed. He’d taken Scabbers into the bath with him for Merlin’s sake! You could bet your backside he was embarrassed. And something else his innocent Twelve years of life experience couldn’t let him quantify. All he knew was that it gave him the willies. Big time. 

Not that he planned to tell Harry any of that. Ever. Initially it wasn’t just because he was embarrassed, but because the man his Rat had turned out to be had been a friend of Harry’s parents. He wasn’t going to lose his best friend over all this. 

Thankfully in the end he hadn’t needed to hide as much as he thought. McGonagall could lay as many guilt trips as she liked on Harry, she wasn’t going to be able convince Harry to like Peter anymore than she would be able to convince Ron.

Peter Pettigrew was just too creepy.

On the other side of the table to Ron, Harry groaned. “If he comes over here, start an argument with me or something.”

“You really don’t like him do you?” Fred, one of Ron’s older brothers joined the conversation; eyes alight with curiosity, and something darker flickering in their depths. Ron had seen it before; they’d had this look about them a lot since they’d found about Scabbers and Pettigrew. He didn’t understand it, and when he’d asked about it they’d just patted him on the head and told him not to worry about it. Ron could almost believe they disliked Pettigrew even more than he and Harry did. 

“Yeah, what’s going on Harry, isn’t he like your uncle or something?” George, Fred’s identical twin continued the thought. 

“He’s not my uncle!” Harry snapped a little too loudly; ducking his head and glancing around to make sure he hadn’t drawn attention to himself, he was relieved to see Peter was over by the teachers table talking to McGonagall. “Look, I know since he was one of my Dad’s best friends I should like him but...”

“Whoa.” George jumped in. Raising his hands placatingly, and was that relief Ron saw in his brothers’ eyes? “There’s plenty of our parents’ friends...”

Fred picked up. “...We don’t like. Just because they’re their friends...”

“...doesn’t mean they’re ours.” George broke in again. “We just wondered why _you_ don’t like him.”

“Other than because he’s a bit weird.” Fred noted. 

“A Bit?” Ron nearly yelped. “He’s more Rat now than he was when he was Scabbers.”

Harry had to agree, and curling his nose in disgust, he tried to explain. “It’s just... all he ever talks about is my Mum and Dad. And at first it was great to hear about them, but... he just keeps talking about how much he liked them, how close they were and how much they liked him. And how Sirius Black is a murderer and a liar. And I get it. Sirius Black is bad. The Dementors hanging around the school were a huge clue there. But it’s like he’s trying to convince me all the time.” He sighed and let his shoulders drop. “I don’t know, I can’t really explain. I just don’t feel right when he’s around. He doesn’t scare me exactly, I just don’t like being around him.”

“Sounds reasonable.” The twins chorused in unison, then Fred continued on his own. “Besides, we’re not exactly fans of his after what he did to Ron.”

“What did he...” Harry’s head snapped around to look at his best friend.

“I wanted to tell you Harry,” Ron implored, shooting a furious look at his brothers who just raised their eyebrows. “But I didn’t want to make a big fuss in case you actually you know, started to like him.” 

“What. Did. He. Do.” Harry bit angrily. 

“Nothing serious.” Ron shrugged. “Only McGonagall asked me and Percy to go see him in the hospital wing... familiar faces and all that, this was back when it all first happened. He was my rat for six years, and Percy’s for five before that. We thought well... it should have been worth something. We always treated him well. But he just... I dunno... it was like we were nothing. The only person he wanted to talk to was you. He was just really rude Harry.”

Catching his friend’s eye, Harry could tell that the meeting had hurt Ron more than he was prepared to let on and Harry could understand why. He’d lost a beloved pet, and in its place was a seriously creepy, strange middle aged man, who apparently wasn’t all that grateful to the Weasley’s for the care they’d shown him. “I’m really sorry all this happened.”

“Not your fault, mate.” Ron shrugged, a little guiltily. To be honest, he wasn’t all that cut up about how rude Peter had been during that first meeting anymore. Admittedly at the time it had hurt, but he hadn’t had time to think about all the other stuff then. Now though, he was kind of glad. But he hadn’t wanted to explain all that to Harry. It didn’t feel like something he should talk about. 

“Well as fascinating as all this is...”George suddenly announced standing from the table. 

Fred too got to his feet. “We’ve got things do...”

“...before everyone comes back tomorrow.” George finished with a waggled of his eyebrows. 

Looking back at Harry once the twins had left, talking quietly between themselves as they walked, Ron sighed. “I guess we better finish these essays. Hermione will do her nut if we haven’t got them done before she gets back.”

“No kidding.” Harry replied, sharing a look of wide eyed horror with his best friend.

~HpɸqH~

 

Despite the fact that the Hogwarts Express was the busiest it had ever been at this time of year and the students were packed into compartments down the length of the train for their journey back to school after the Christmas break, near the back there was one compartment that contained only a single passenger.

Not that anyone could see him. He’d pulled all the shades and locked the door hours before the first student had arrived on the platform. A couple of times someone had attempted to open the door, one had even tried to unlock it with a spell, but he’d foreseen this eventuality and the charmed lock had only spun harmlessly when the student tried the handle. 

Once out of the station, he’d lifted the shade on the window, (although he’d left the ones on the corridor side of the compartment down) and now he stared out at the passing scenery, his mind rooted in the past. It had been a very long time indeed since he’d been on this train. The memories washed over him like the most bitter-sweet of waves.

He could clearly remember the last time. The train had of course be going in the opposite direction then; taking himself and his companions home after the end of their final year at the school that had come to mean so much more to them. They hadn’t realised it at the time, but they’d said goodbye to childhood on that journey. They’d sat there the five of them - the four marauders and the honorary marauder Lily Evans - and they’d planned out their futures. Great wild schemes, naive visions of how their lives would turn out. 

James had said he would marry Lily. She’d looked at him bug eyed for a moment, asked if he was proposing and then they’d all collapsed into a fit of giggles. Ten months later Lily Evans had become Lily Potter. Peter had talked about working at the Ministry, about becoming Minister for Magic one day. Lily had said she’d vote for him. Sirius had threatened to leave the country. James and Sirius had talked at length about Auror training and he’d... he’d sat there and listened with fondness and pride, happy to lean into Sirius, the dark haired man’s arm around his shoulders. 

He couldn’t remember all they’d talked about. He remembered Sirius saying something incredibly sweet, although what exactly it was he couldn’t quite recall, and then James and Peter pelting the pair of them with jelly beans. It had started a sweet war that had led to Lily fleeing the compartment the four them rolling around on the floor like first years. 

Even then. Even on that last journey home, they’d been so supremely innocent. They hadn’t had a clue what was waiting for them.

Reaching into his bag, he pulled out something from the bottom of it. Something he’d never quite been able to let go of. It was a dog collar. Heavy brown leather with single round tag on the buckle. ‘Moony’ it said on one side. ‘Property of Sirius Black’ it said on the other. 

A joke. A bad one but still a joke. Meant with utmost affection. 

_“In case you ever get lost Moony. And a need a little help finding your way home.”_

So utterly presumptuous. So completely Sirius. Sirius had given him that collar after their first real fight. That would not be the last time he would find himself torn between kissing and punching his lover, but it would end up being one of the most memorable. 

Almost six years they were together. Six years. From the beginning of their sixth year at school until... until about a month before the day Remus Lupin’s world fell apart completely. The day he realised that he’d never really known Sirius at all. The day he woke to the news that James, Lily and Peter were all dead. Peter, Sirius had killed himself, but James and Lily he had handed over to the Dark Lord. 

Even now, he found himself retching thinking about it all. Sometimes he found himself wondering about those nights Sirius would come home all fired up, gleeful light shining in his eyes, a light Remus had thought was for him. He’d think about those nights and he’d think about bloodlust, and he’d wonder what Sirius had been doing before he’d come home to make his blood burn as it had. He’d think about the names that had daily appeared in the paper, had been read out on the WWN and wonder. Was Peter the first? 

Six years. Sirius Black had had his heart for much longer, but that was the time they’d had. In those years he’d told Sirius everything from his fondest desires to his greatest fears. He’d given that man everything he had to give. Because he’d loved him. He’d loved a ghost. A figment. 

No he couldn’t believe that. His Sirius had existed once. His Sirius had been a real person, a boy with strength and courage and loyalty and a rebellious streak a mile wide. His Sirius would have rather died than become a Death-Eater. And that was where he faltered because his Sirius hadn’t died, but he had become a Death-Eater.

If he could pinpoint the moment. The exact point in time where it had all changed maybe.... Maybe nothing. Fact was fact. Sirius Black had been James and Lily’s Secret Keeper. Only he had had the power to divulge their location and he’d run straight to his master. He’d betrayed the Potters, he’d murdered Peter and he’d murdered twelve random Muggles just because they happened to be there. 

The day Sirius had been sent to Azkaban Remus hadn’t cried. He’d cried for James, he’d cried for Lily, he’d cried for Harry who’d lost his parents and Peter who’d lost his life. But Peter wasn’t dead. He was alive. Had spent the last eleven years as a rat. If he found Peter the first thing he would do was find out what the hell that cock and bull story about transfiguration was all about, and why he hadn’t shown his face in all this time. It was a crock of shit and Remus knew it. But still he did not regret his tears for Peter. 

He had no tears for Sirius Black. 

Only a burning anger. A hatred like he’d never known. Feelings he’d buried deep for eleven years, content enough to let the man rot in Azkaban. Feelings that had washed over him like a tidal wave as Tom, the landlord of the Leaky Cauldron of all people, had filled him in on all he’d missed since he’d last been in the Wizarding world. 

That Peter was alive should have filled him with joy, and it did in a way, a tiny flicker of light in the darkness that had taken over his mind. But he couldn’t let himself feel that joy yet. Not yet. Not after the other piece of news Tom had given him. Sirius had escaped Azkaban. Sirius had had the audacity to break free of the place he should have remained, his sanity being shredded day by agonising day, until he died like miserable excuse for a rabid dog he was.

No Remus would not clear the fog of rage or the dark oppressive blanket of hatred from his mind until he’d seen the light fade from that murderous traitor’s eyes. Not this time. This time he would make sure. This time he would not fail James and Lily as he had for those six years he’d slept beside that monster without realising who he was.

Sirius Black would not finish what he started with Peter. Sirius Black would not touch one single hair on Harry Potter’s head. He wouldn’t get the chance. Not while Remus could still draw breath. If he wound up in Azkaban so be it. It would be worth it. 

He would do this. And he wouldn’t let anyone stop him. That was why no one knew where he was going. Why he couldn’t let himself be seen once he got there, not until after it was done. They’d try and stop him, talk him out of his course. He didn’t want to be stopped and he wouldn’t give anyone the opportunity to talk him out of it. 

He would have to be careful though. Old Tom had been very forthcoming with information. Not just about events of interest, but also about rumours and hearsay. There were people looking for him. Tom hadn’t known who, or why. Only that word was out for information on him. If it was Sirius then he could come and get him, he’d be waiting. If it was Dumbledore... well, he’d just have to cross that bridge when he came to it. 

If it was anyone else, then they could bloody well wait. 

The door suddenly rattled and Remus’ gaze snapped to it. 

“Hey! Open this door.” A voice, a decidedly adult voice, ordered from outside. “Bloody kids, you know you’re not allowed to lock the doors. Open up! Open up Now!”

Damn it. It was the guard. Go away. Remus willed. Go away now. But the man on the other side kept rattling the door and demanding it be opened. He was surely drawing attention to himself. Damn it. 

Standing quickly, Remus drew his wand, unlocked the door and caught the Guard with mild stunner as he stumbled forward, the force of the spell knocking him back out into the corridor. Damn again, not as mild a stunner as he planned. Quickly moving to the door he glanced rapidly up and down the corridor, grateful to find it empty. 

The Guard was looking up at him, slowly getting to his feet. Damn. Damn. Damn. Well in for a penny in for pound. What he was planning was enough to get him in Azkaban anyway he might as well go all out. 

“Rescribo Mundi*.” He incanted with a snap of his wand. The man’s eyes became suspiciously dull. Keeping his wand aimed at the Guard, he spoke his next words clearly. “You have seen no-one in or near this compartment.”

“I have seen no-one in or near this compartment.” The Guard repeated back dully. 

“It was locked the entire journey.” Remus continued.

“It was locked the entire journey.”

“You locked it yourself before the train left the Kings Cross. The seats were broken and you didn’t have time to fix them.”

“I locked it myself before the train left Kings Cross. The seats were broken and I didn’t have time to fix them.”

“There is no need for you to check this compartment again until the house-elves come down to clean.”

“There’s no need to check this compartment again until the house elves come down to clean.”

Reaching forward, Remus lay his wand against the man’s forehead, felt the power of the memory spell pulse as it settled, then withdrew. 

A gasp. A footfall. Remus’ head snapped towards the sound. Was someone there? Cautiously he peered down the corridor, his senses stretching. Werewolf senses, always just that little bit sharper than those of an average human being. He took a few steps in the direction the sound had come from but heard nothing but the idle chatter of children further up the train. He narrowed his eyes, paused and listened, but sounds of the train, the wheels on the tracks and the chuff of the engine were too loud for him to make out the sounds of heart beats or breathing. He sniffed. Sweets, sweat, leather old and new, fabric softener, shampoo, new clothes, disinfectant, brass polish, cauldron de-scaler, a nasal cacophony of animals and their droppings, and hundreds and hundreds of people. If there was a fresh scent in amongst that lot, he couldn’t pick it up. 

He shook his head. He was getting paranoid. That was all. And wasting time. If he didn’t finish what he’d started here soon, then one of the children in the nearby compartments could well come out and then he _would_ have a problem. Time to stop chasing phantoms.

With one last glance around, he returned to the guard whose eyes were beginning to clear. Damn again. No time. 

“Confundus.” He bit out, making the guard sway on his feet and blink rapidly. 

Taking his opportunity, Remus slipped quickly back into the compartment, shut the door and locked it. Waiting until he heard the Guard groan, mutter about feeling light headed then wonder off. Only then did he relax back into his seat.

~HpɸqH~

 

Just along the corridor from Remus Lupin, a twelve year old girl with bushy brown hair and freckles was also slumping back into her seat. Her heart pounding and her mind racing, not quite believing what she’d just seen.

~HpɸqH~

 

“You will report to Mr Filch immediately after the feast Miss Granger. And that will be the end of it. No more lies. Do I make myself clear?”

“But...”

“I said do I make myself clear?!” Minerva McGonagall snapped firmly, eyes flashing angrily. 

“Yes professor.” Hermione Granger choked back, her eyes bright with tears. 

“Then you may go.” Minerva dismissed, watching as the young girl turned on her heel and practically stomped from the room. 

With a sigh, she lowered herself into her chair behind her desk and shook her head in dismay. Of all people and of all things, she never would have thought...

“Trouble already, Minerva?”

Glancing up, Minerva bolted out of her seat at the sight of the Headmaster in her doorway. 

“Headmaster, I didn’t realise...”

Albus Dumbledore shook his head and smiled wryly, waving the Deputy Headmistress back to her seat. “I must confess I was lurking. Curiosity got the best of me and I found myself too impatient for you to come and see me.”

Minerva shook her head. “As much as I like Potter and young Ron Weasley, they’ve been entirely a poor influence on that girl.”

“Really? How so?” Dumbledore asked idly, as he wandered around the Deputy Headmistress’s office, casually perusing the items on display. 

Minerva rolled her eyes at his blatant nosiness. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen the inside of her office before, and very little of its contents had changed in recent years. “Lying is not a trait I would have associated with Miss Granger before now. But...”

“Are you sure she was lying?” Dumbledore cut in, turning away from the photographs he’d been looking at to face her, his expression serious. 

With a tired exhalation, Minerva stood from her seat and came to stand closer to the Headmaster. “I spoke to the guard myself Albus, and checked the train. As did Professor Flitwick. If anyone did attack that Guard I could see no evidence of it. He has no gaps in his memory to speak of. He clearly remembers trying the door to the compartment to check it was still locked and moving on. A door which he locked before the students arrived at Kings-Cross when he found that all the seats were broken. He saw nothing and no-one suspicious the entire journey.”

“And the compartment?” Dumbledore asked curiously. 

“Just as he described it.” Minerva replied succinctly. “Both bench seats utterly unusable. Perhaps a word about respect for property might be in order before tonight’s feast. That students felt it acceptable to damage that compartment as they did is not to be tolerated.”

“Indeed, I will make sure to mention it tonight.” Dumbledore mused thoughtfully. “It seems strange though, don’t you think, for someone like Miss Granger to make up such a tall tale, and create such a fuss. She’s never struck me as one who needed to seek attention in that way. She gets more than enough attention for her academic achievements.”

“If Potter and Weasley had been on the train I might have assumed she was covering for them in some way.” Minerva admitted with bafflement. “But as they were not I am still at a loss as to what any of it was all about.”

“Only time will tell I fear.” Dumbledore replied dryly. “It so often does with these things. But on to other matters. I was wondering if you had any success in your attempts to locate Mr Lupin during your sojourn from the castle this last week?”

Casting sad and worried eyes on the Headmaster, Minerva just shook her head. 

“Nothing. Not a word. I am beginning to worry that we might be too late.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Rescribo Mundi – Rewrite the world. From Latin. A spell to allowing the caster to “rewrite” events in a person’s mind based on the premise that a person’s world is made up of their accumulated memories and perceptions. I needed a spell... Rowling hadn’t supplied one.


	5. The Chase

Polyjuice potion was perhaps one of the great wonders of the Magical World. Difficult and lengthy to brew and requiring a couple of ingredients that were either rare or restricted by the ministry, those potioners willing to sell it were few and charged a small fortune.

The reason Hogwarts students were forbidden to brew it however was not due ti its rarity, complexity or borderline illegality. It didn’t have any narcotic properties and only a complete imbecile would drink it for the flavour. Unlike the majority of the potions students were banned from making, acquiring or distributing, Polyjuice potion was actually in demand for its intended purpose, rather than a desirous and usually pleasurable side effect. 

Polyjuice potion was, simply put, a shape changing potion. The addition of a hair or fingernail from the intended target and it allowed a person to completely take on their appearance. A little observation of a target’s mannerisms, speech patterns and routines and Polyjuice potion would actually enable the drinker to completely become someone else. 

Unfortunately, it wasn’t without its draw backs. Aside from the obvious disadvantages of being difficult to get hold of, nausea inducing and the taste, consistency and colour of goose dropping milkshake, it was also completely indiscriminate. As Hermione Granger had only recently discovered. 

Brewing the potion hadn’t been a problem for the young witch; her reputation as one of the most capable students to come through the school in recent years was well founded. She’d even found the perfect spot in which to make the potion; a disused girl’s toilet. Well, disused if you didn’t count its resident ghost – the rather aggrieved spectre of bespectacled sixth year known as Moaning Myrtle. 

Perfect brewer, perfect location, the correct ingredients. Nothing should have gone wrong. And for two of the three who had consumed the potion nothing had gone wrong. Unfortunately for Hermione, her own self assurance had been her come-uppance. The mistake was easy to make, but the results were disastrous. 

In her defence, she hadn’t actually known that Millicent Bulstrode had a cat. 

Lying in the bed she had been given in the Hogwarts hospital wing, Hermine stared at the ceiling feeling frustrated, humiliated and itchy. At least she could now lie on her back; she’d spent most of the afternoon on her front until the tail had receded. 

It _had_ been for a good cause she supposed. They’d needed to find out who had opened the Chamber of Secrets. Students were being petrified, there was a monster loose in the castle, and possibly worst of all, the other students were blaming Harry. Alright, so she hadn’t known he was a paselmouth and when he’d been talking to the snake Draco Malfoy had conjured in duelling club she’d had a moment like everyone else where she’d doubted, where she’d believed Harry had been egging the snake on. But it was only a moment.

Harry wouldn’t. He just wouldn’t. He could be a bit odd at times, but there was no way it was him. And there was no way he was petrifying people with just a look as some of the rumours were suggesting. 

Actually she’d been pretty convinced by Ron’s Draco Malfoy theory. Not that he could petrify someone with a look – no one could do that – but that he was the heir of Slytherin. He certainly fit the profile. His family had been in slytherin likely since the times of Salazar Slytherin himself. He loathed anyone not of pure magical blood and wasn’t backwards in coming forwards about it. And his father was rumoured to have been a follower of You Know Who. At the time, Hermione had been sure Ron was right; either Draco was the heir, or he knew who it was. 

Unfortunately their little polyjuice adventure had only managed to prove them wrong. Ron and Harry, disguised as Draco’s two dim-witted lackeys, Crabbe and Goyle, had prodded Draco for information and only been able to learn that Draco knew about as much as they did. Alright, so that wasn’t entirely true, Draco had known the Chamber had been opened once before, fifty years ago, which they hadn’t known, but other than that the whole exercise had come out as a bit pointless. 

Maybe if they’d been able to find out something useful or actually caught the person behind the attacks, growing a fine glossy coat and four extra nipples might have been worthwhile. 

Maybe.

Well as her mother always said, no use crying over spilt milk. There were more important things to worry about right now than hairballs and the irrational urge to chase the bright dot that appeared on the wall every time Madame Pomfry’s watch caught the light. They still had to find out who it was that was attacking the Muggle-borns and stop them before someone got _really_ hurt. As it was, those poor students who had been petrified already were going to be missing so much school before Professor Sprout’s mandrakes were mature enough to harvest for the curative potion. 

The mere thought of all those missed lessons made Hermione shudder. 

“Ow. Watch your elbow.”

“shhh.”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed at crack in the ceiling. It was late. At least, it was certainly past second year curfew, and that voice had a distinctly familiar edge to it. Letting out a long, exasperated sigh, she sat up in bed. 

“Being invisible doesn’t exactly mean much when people can hear you, you know.” She pointed out condescendingly. Her tone was far sharper than she planned, but if she were honest she was still smarting from the lecture she’d received earlier from Professor McGonagall. Twice now she’d found herself in the unfavourable position of being on the receiving end of the Deputy Headmistress’ acerbic tongue, and while the first time she’d been able shield herself with indignant fury (She hadn’t lied!) this time she really had had no one but herself to blame. 

Hence why she hadn’t dropped Harry and Ron in it when the Professor had pushed her to name her accomplices; earning her another tongue lashing for theft as well as brewing a restricted potion. She couldn’t exactly grass them up when she’d been the one to push for the plan in the first place. Thankfully the professor had decided that the results of her attempt to make polyjuice potion were fitting punishment for her crime and she’d been saved the indignity of detention, or the shame of having a letter written home to her parents. 

Hearing the familiar muted rumpled sound of a certain invisibility cloak belonging to a certain Harry Potter being discarded she sat up; her expression turning into a warning look when both Harry and Ron emerged from under the folds. “You two will surely get in trouble if you’re caught in here. You heard what Madame Pomfry said. No Visitors after six.”

“Which is why we used the cloak.” Harry pointed out. “Besides. We think we’ve found something.”

“Well actually, Myrtle found it, but since she fancies Harry she let him have it.” Ron practically sniggered, ignoring the look on the smaller boy’s face. 

“She does not fancy me.” Harry growled back. 

“Yes she does.”

“She does not!”

Before the conversation could deteriorate further, Hermione coughed. “So you found something. In Moaning Myrtle’s toilet?”

“Literally.” Ron threw in, looking a little disturbed. 

Rolling his eyes, Harry fished something out from under his robes and handed it to Hermione who grimaced and let it fall to the bed rather than actually hold it. It was a book. And it was sopping wet. With a shrug, Harry explained. “Someone apparently tried to flush it. Myrtle took offense and flooded the bathroom.” Seeing Hermione’s still rather ill expression, Harry tried for reassuring. “I don’t think it’s well... you know... it’s only a little wet.”

“We’d have dried it. But with my wand umm yeah, and the last time Harry tried a drying charm he almost set fire to the dorm room so we thought maybe...” Ron trailed off helplessly. 

“Honestly” Hermione huffed. Grabbing her wand from the nightstand, she pointed it at the book. “Sicco!”

With a puff of steam, the book on the blanket dried out before their eyes, leaving the pages slightly wrinkled and the leather cover a little warped. Picking it up, Hermione turned it around in her hands, her eyes catching the faded gold lettering at the bottom of the back cover. “It looks like a Diary... and I think there’s a name on it. Tom... Marvolo?... Riddle?”

“Tom Marvolo Riddle?” Ron practically yelped, snatching the book out of Hermione’s hands and staring down at the words. “Hey, I know that name...” He frowned, confused, the ghost of a memory itching the back of his brain. “Why do I know that name?”

Above his head, Hermione and Harry shared a bemused glance. Unless Tom Marvolo Riddle was a professional Quiddich player, they couldn’t think why or where Ron would know it either. The sum of Ronald Weasley’s acquired knowledge could be described as being in microscopic detail when it came to Quiddich, and just microscopic when it came to everything else. 

“Detention.” Ron suddenly announced, smiling a little proudly. “The other night, when I had detention. My Job was polishing the silver in the trophy room.” His smile slipped and he grimaced. “I remember the name, because I kept burping up slugs over his trophy.”

Now it was Harry and Hermione’s turn to grimace. The image of Ron burping up slugs was one that wouldn’t leave either of them for some time. But it wasn’t one Hermione minded all that much in the grand scheme of things. After all, Ron had wound up hexing himself in an ill-advised attempt to defend her honour. That had meant a lot to her. That Ron - who was a pureblood although apparently considered the ‘wrong sort’ of pureblood by the likes of Draco Malfoy – had instantly jumped to her defence when Malfoy had called her a Mudblood was both reassuring, and really rather sweet. In a disturbing kind of way. 

“What was the trophy for?” Harry said, pulling Hermione back to the here and now. 

Ron’s incredibly expressive face twisted with effort of recalling the details, but in the end he shrugged, turning the book over in his hands once more before passing it over to Harry, “He won an award, fifty years ago... special services to the school or something.”

The number rang so many bells in Hermione’s head she was amazed someone didn’t come rushing in thinking there was a fire. “Fifty years ago? Are you sure?”

Looking somewhat affronted at having his memory challenged, Ron scowled at the bedridden girl. “Yeah. Why?”

“Don’t you see?” Hermione exclaimed impatiently. “Don’t you remember what Malfoy told you... ‘the last time the chamber was opened was’...”

“Fifty years ago.” Harry butted in, nodding, catching on. “That means...”

“Tom Riddle was here! At Hogwarts when it happened!” Hermione reclaimed the conversation, her tone growing excited. “What if he wrote about what he saw? It’s possible he knew where the chamber was, how to open it, even what sort of creature lives in it... If so, whoever’s behind these attacks, they wouldn’t want this diary lying around, would they?” 

“It’s a brilliant theory Hermione, but there’s one flaw,” Harry sighed, looking up from where he’d been thumbing through the book’s pages. When Hermione gave him a confused and slightly hurt look, he held the book open for her to see. “There’s nothing written in this Diary.”

~HpɸqH~

 

Peter Pettrigrew shuffled nervously along the lamp lit hallway, nodding as pleasantly as he could to the students that he passed. He had to hurry, curfew would come soon, and he was no fool. He would not be caught anywhere completely alone. Sirius Black knew this castle better than anyone alive. Knew all its secret tunnels and passages. He could be anywhere. He could be watching him right now just waiting for those students to disappear around the corner and leave him on his own. Just waiting for his opportunity to strike. 

He didn’t even have a wand. His was lost, gone. He couldn’t recall what had happened to it. No one had thought to give him a new one. Why would he need one? Sirius couldn’t get inside the castle they said, and Peter wasn’t allowed to leave. No need for a wand. He could get himself a new one once Sirius was recaptured and he was free to go. 

Did Sirius have a wand? Didn’t they break a Wizard’s wand when they were sent to Azkaban? A symbolic gesture of course, a wizard could just buy a new one. Wands got broken all the time. But still. Had Sirius found a new wand? 

The mere thought of it sent his eyes skittering for the shadows. He couldn’t remember all the passageways, not now, not after so long. He’d barely been able to remember them all at the time; back when he, James, Sirius and Remus had used them to get up to all manner of mischief. He looked and looked though. Was that nook familiar? Did it go somewhere? Could something come out? 

Curse Dumbledore for making him stay here. But of course he could hardly refuse the man’s oh so generous offer of protection could he? How would that look? If he were only allowed to leave the castle he would have a chance. He could find friends, or at least allies who would aid him, protect him. He could at least transform and get lost amongst the billions of other rats that spread the length and breadth of Britain. 

But who said he had to stay in Britain? He could stow away on a ship. Head for exotic parts. 

Curse that Weasley boy for messing up such a simple spell and curse McGonagall for using that natural state spell. He’d been doing alright until then. Waiting yes. Watching and waiting. Foolish boy, always ready to read him the news. Rat eyes weren’t good for reading, tiny paws couldn’t turn pages. And Oh, young Harry, always so close to the action, dragging his friends along. So much had happened. Yes. He was coming back. The Dark Lord. He would come back. He could feel it. 

He needed to make sure he was safe before then. What if he blamed him? No, that was bad. Very bad. He had to make sure they all believed his story here. Had to get Harry on side. That way they’d keep protecting him. And Sirius, they had to recapture Sirius. Sirius knew. He was the only one. He could destroy it all. 

But they wouldn’t believe Sirius. Such a cunning plan of his, so dreadfully it backfired. Perfect, it had been so perfect. The Dark Lord had been so happy. He said he’d be rewarded. Maybe he would still be? When the Dark Lord returned? When he realised Peter hadn’t known what would happen? 

First he had to get to his room. Yes. His room. His room was very safe. In the east tower. No tunnels or passages here. Peter remembered that at least. The sooner he got there the better. Just a little further. 

~HpɸqH~

 

The walls of the castle were incredibly thick. Not just the outside walls, but the inside ones as well. Solid stone, twice as thick as a man was wide. Or so most people thought. But this castle was old. Older still than the school itself, at least a large part of it. It had seen wars and rebellions. It had held prisoners, and hidden fugitives. It had lived a hundred different lives and been moulded and shaped to each new purpose. Oh yes its walls were thick.

But they hid another world entirely. Priest holes and servants passages, spy runs and forgotten chambers. One of the castle’s previous occupants, long before the founding of the school, had been ingenious in his paranoia. He had foreseen the means of his own downfall and sought to turn the tables. 

_Let my enemies take my castle_ , he’d thought, _and let them fall into a trap in doing so._

He’d tunnelled out those thick walls, propped them with pillars and closed them back up with boards and panelling, plaster and glass. He’d shrunk rooms to put passages between them. Anyone so foolish to take the castle would soon lament their victory when the forces hiding within the very walls would ambush and destroy the would-be conquerors a few at a time. 

Alas for those who would now benefit from this knowledge, the castle was never taken, the passages never used, and the their architect died in his sleep, at a ripe old age, having never used, nor told a soul of his rather masterful creation. 

It was down one of these very passageways, shards of flickering lamplight striking through the fractional gaps between the deceptive panels, that a large dog walked. Separated from the prey he hunted by bare inches of wood and plaster, he stalked. Waiting, listening. 

Alone. He needed his prey alone. Cruel was not the mind of this hunter. Struck through with desperation bordering on madness yes, but not cruel. He would not leave some child with a memory it would never shake. 

He would not risk being caught. 

On he followed, tensed and ready should his moment come. Any one of these panels would simply break to pieces should he hit it with enough force. And then he would have him. Finally, eleven long years in the waiting he would have him. And he would pay. He would pay so dearly for what he had done. 

Oh yes he would pay. 

A corner turned and the great dog growled quietly. At last! 

Picking up his pace, he moved to strike. 

~HpɸqH~

 

Severus Snape strode down the corridor with his usual forceful gate, black robes billowing behind him like the shroud of death itself. He was a man on a mission. A purpose and destination. There was something he needed to know. 

For over a month now he’d been watching, searching. He had hoped to have been done by now. It wasn’t to be. What he sought had evaded him. Foreseeable but unavoidable events had delayed him. He’d had to change his tactics, take bigger risks.

Striding along the hall, he sneered openly at the students he past, all but the Slytherins. To them gave stern faced nods. They knew not to delay him when he moved with such determination. All the students cleared his path. 

The school was a maze, but at last he caught up with at least one of those he sought to find. 

“Pettigrew!” Snape barked, halting the hunched and quivering man in his step. Rapidly reaching the wretched figure he towered over him, loomed.

~HpɸqH~

 

In the wall the dog skidded to a halt, biting down on a frustrated growl lest he be heard. 

Through the gaps in the panel, he watched and waited. 

Damn you Snivelus.

~HpɸqH~

 

“I thought you were warned about wondering alone?” Snape sneered down at the man before him. His dark eyes glinting in the flickering light of the torches. 

“I-I-I- I was just on m-m-my way to m-my room n-now S-serverus.” Peter replied, his words whined and stuttered around his snorting rapid breathing. The sharp rapid breaths of a rodent. 

“Never let it be said that I do not follow the headmaster’s wishes.” Snape growled. “and as he wishes you, for some unknown reason, to remain unharmed, I will escort you to your rooms.”

“There’s r-really n-no need. S-s-Serverus... I-I can make my...”Peter protested, cowering in the face of the tall dark figure before him.

“Oh do be quiet you snivelling fool.” Snape snapped, cutting him off. “Go, before I do Black’s work for him.”

With a frightened Squeak, Peter turned and shuffled hurriedly on, Snape following with a disgusted shake of his head. 

~HpɸqH~

 

In the wall. The dog felt like howling. His breaths came in heavy angry pants. 

Turning in the confined space of the tunnel, he ran. Sprinted as fast as he legs would carry him in the dusty airless passageways. 

If the students still in hallways happened to hear the gallop of paws on stone they shrugged it off and put it down to the ghosts, or possibly Peeves the resident poltergeist, trying to spook them. 

Still the dog ran. Burning off the energy of a hunt denied and the fury that burned at the very core of his soul. 

He would have kept running until he ran out of energy to do so, but through the clouds in his mind he heard the scream. The panicked frightened scream. 

For a moment the dog thought he’d been spotted, but then with a shake of his head he realised that the scream had been loud, but not very close. 

He sniffed. There was that scent again. A scent he’d smelt often in the tunnels. A cloying unwelcome scent of death, decay, old water and age. 

He’d smelt it before, in the service pipes that night he’d been following Harry. Just following, watching, his heart bleeding for the boy at the nasty whispers that had been swirling through the school. That had been the night Harry had found one his fellow students petrified. The night the murmurs and whispers had increased. 

Heir of Slytherin, his furry tail.

Besides the Chamber of Secrets was a children’s story. Something told to little ones to warn them of the consequences of befriending mudbloods, and to encourage them to be good little witches and wizards and stay true to their roots. Be good, the story promised, and you might turn out to be Slytherin’s true heir. 

Oh yes he knew the tale. 

Snuffling the ground, the dog picked up the scent and followed it, noting he was headed towards the source of the scream. He followed until he realised he could hear voices just beyond the edges of the tunnel. Approaching a gap in the intricate stone work, the dog peered through. 

Dumbledore, McGonagall and Sprout. Two seventh year prefects and a sobbing Hufflepuff girl who had to be in fifth or sixth year. 

There was another girl on the floor. Stiff, unmoving. Petrified. 

“I told her not to go. I told her! Sh-sh-she said she wanted to get her scarf!” The girl, the one still standing, was sobbing. “Sh-she left it in the courtyard. I told her it wasn’t safe! That’s why I went looking!”

As the Dog watched, Sprout took the weeping girl into her arms and began to lead her away as McGonagall directed the prefects to lift her poor petrified friend and carry her away. 

Another one. Whoever was doing this was damned good. 

A sound. Like sand running through a metal pipe. Like scales across stone. The dog’s attention was drawn and he sniffed again, almost overwhelmed by the scent that he’d followed before. 

He was still wound up, still furious and frustrated. If whoever was doing this was in the tunnels then they were going to get a little surprise. He needed something to get his teeth into. 

Leaving the scene, the dog sprinted off in the direction of the sound, blood risen once more. He could practically taste his quarry. He could hear its heartbeat. He could see...

Skidding to a halt, the fearsomely large black dog practically rolled itself into a ball on the floor in its efforts to turn around, slipping and sliding on the wet stone under foot as it desperately sought to retreat to the nearest possible hiding place. Finding one a few feet back up the tunnel, a tall narrow recess, the dog squeezed itself in, stood on its hind legs facing the wall... 

And slid gracefully into the form of a painfully thin rag swathed man, straggles of beard on his chin matching the limp greasy strands of his shoulder length hair and filth covering every exposed inch of skin. Nose pressed against the stonework the man screwed his eyes shut and tried to hold his breath. Tried to calm his heart so he could hear. Hear that slither of scales on stone vanish into the distance. 

Because he knew what he’d seen. That huge serpent’s tail he’d glimpsed in the tunnel ahead. Oh yes he knew what he’d just seen. Children’s stories for good little pure-bloods and a lover once who read far more than was likely sane. 

Oh yes. He knew. 

He was Sirius Black and he knew a Basilisk when he saw one. 

Oddly however, the prevailing thought in his mind, other than to keep his eyes closed at all costs, was that for once he’d actually found something his mother had been right about. 

~HpɸqH~

 

“R-really S-s-Serverus... I c-can manage from h-here.”

Serverus Snape glared down at Peter Pettigrew making the small man twitch down and bring his hands closer towards his face. Flicking his wand at the lock on the door, he opened it, glanced around the well appointed room which had been given to the former rat, a sneer of distaste on his lips. Turning back to Pettigrew he sneered. “It all seems to be in order, although you could treat the generosity of your hosts with a little more respect and pick up after yourself. Although I suppose given your unfortunate circumstance you have become accustomed to _filth_.”

Peter just giggled nervously. 

“Well?” Snape huffed impatiently. “What are you waiting for? An invitation?”

Another nervous giggle and Peter literally scurried inside, his eyes widening with alarm when instead of leaving, Snape followed him, closing and locking the door behind him. 

“S-s-Severus?”

“Really Wormtail so nervous.” Snape chuckled darkly. “Whatever would Prongs have thought of you cowering before nasty, greasy old Snivellous? And you call yourself a Marauder.”

For a moment Peter could only stare at the Potions Master in utter astonishment. The voice was right, but the words and... and the smirk were... he knew that smirk…

“Remus?” Peter’s voice seemed to have climbed into castrato registers. 

Snape laughed. But this was not the dark laugh of Serverus Snape, but something a lot kinder. And combined with way his eyes crinkled at the corners and his mouth twitched there could be no mistake. 

“Remus! My old friend!” Peter practically squealed, throwing himself at the man who looked like Severus Snape but clearly was not. “You came! You came!”

“I came as soon as I could Wormtail. I assure you.” Remus offered quietly, accepting the embrace of an old friend willingly. The voice was now his own. It had actually been a trick the other marauders had thoroughly enjoyed when they were at school, his uncanny knack of being able to mimic the voices certain people. Serverus Snape being a particular favourite, although his Professor Slughorn and Berty Moonstrung (the afternoon and evening news-reader on the Wizarding Wireless Network) had also been oft requested. He couldn’t do many, but the ones he did, he did well.

Soon enough, he disentangled himself and held Peter him at arm’s length. Taking a moment to study the smaller man up close, Remus frowned. The sad, concerned look in those eyes was so incongruous with the face that held them. “How are you Peter?”

“Good! Well, getting b-better! G-getting better all the time!” Peter babbled. “Remus. Moony.... It’s so good to see you... Oh Remus. I tried you know! I tried to s-stop him!”

“I know.” Remus hushed him, guiding them both to a nearby couch. “I know you did Peter, and bloody brave thing it was to do. Brave, and foolish. You’re lucky to be alive. But you and I both know that transfiguration story is a pile of dragon dung so what actually happened Peter? Why didn’t you come back?”

“I- I...” Peter suddenly stumbled and fidgeted. “I w-wanted to! Remus Please believe m-me! I wanted to! But I couldn’t! I couldn’t change back! I saw what he was going to d.do and I tried to change to escape b-but th-then it all went black and and and wh-when I woke up I couldn’t I... I... I must have lost my wand... I don’t know... I...”

“When the explosion hit.” Remus sighed sadly. “You can’t have been fully transformed...” Remus shook his head. Unlike werewolves who had a nasty habit of shredding anything they happened to be wearing or holding when they transformed, with an animagus everything they were touching at the time of transformation seemed to become part of them, wands included. And if that wand had been knocked out of his hand before he completed the change then... then he would have been stuck.

“Remus!”

Remus blinked, and realised he must have spaced for a moment, because that was clearly not the first time his name had been called. “What?”

“Sirius... he... he...”

“I know.” Remus growled a now familiar heat forming in his chest. An icy heat if that was even possible. That’s what it felt like. “He’s here.” Suddenly his face became very firm. “Peter listen to me. No one can know I’m here. No-one. I won’t let him near you but you have to promise me you won’t tell a soul I’m here. Promise me Peter!”

“Wha... Why?” Pettigrew blurted. 

“ _Peter_.” Remus practically growled. He needed Peter to do as he said in this. He knew himself too well. He knew what would happen if Dumbledore or McGonagall were to find out he was here. They would try and talk him out of what he planned. Try and convince him of other paths. And they would succeed. But there could be no other path. He could not falter here. He had to do this. “Pro-Miss-Me”

“I p-promise. I p-promise Remus. Not a word. To Anyone.” Overly large teeth bit into a split and chapped lower lip. “Wh-what a-are you going t-to do?”

“I’m going to kill him.” Remus replied bluntly. “He’s here, in the castle somewhere. I’ve been close but I haven’t managed to catch him yet, but when I do. I’m going to kill him Peter. For you, for Harry, for Lily and James. He’ll pay Peter. He will.”

Peter nodded like a puppet. He’d never seen Remus so cold. Ever. Not since... Not since Sirius had tricked Snape into going down the path under the whomping willow, and James had had to rescue him before Remus’ wolf killed him. He’d never been scared of Remus before. 

He was scared of him now. 

“I-I didn’t know you kn-know. When I t-told you... wh-when I... a-about those n-nights wh-when... I’m s-sorry.”

Shame and hurt and betrayal welled up in Remus so strongly he thought he might actually throw up there and then. “You couldn’t have known. You saw more than any of us did. I didn’t even see enough to assume he was having an affair until you told me... How sick is it that I wish he’d really been having an affair Peter?”

Peter heard the bitterness, the resentment in Remus’ words with no small about of satisfaction. But was it enough? Was it enough to keep him safe? Enough to make sure Remus did what he had just promised to do and get of rid of the last threat to Peter’s continued freedom?

“D-don’t l-let him h-hurt Harry.” Peter whimpered imploringly.

He knew his words had had the desired effect when for a moment Peter thought he saw the wolf flicker in Snape’s dark eyes. 

“I won’t.”

Tbc...


	6. The Girl Who Cried Wolf

Weeks dragged on. The days grew longer. The snow melted but the cold dug its icy heels in, leaving the ground hard and the air biting. Around the borders of the school the Dementors kept up their silent vigil, ever watchful for their elusive prey, unknowing that the one they sought had already made his way onto the grounds. 

Within the school itself the remarkable resilience (or short attention spans) of children were clearly evident as the halls rang with the sound of laughter and hurried feet, despite the presence of the Dementors or the fact that three of their classmates languished petrified in the hospital wing. Very few bothered to be concerned by such things. While many still suspected Harry Potter to be the Heir of Slytherin, with the last attack now being at least six weeks past, any that gave the matter more than a cursory thought assumed Harry had either given up or been successfully warned off. The escape of Sirius Black, whose crimes had been committed before a time any could remember - before some of the younger first years had even been born – was hardly considered at all; it hadn’t seemed all that consequential once the initial rush of speculation had passed. Even the presence of the Rat-Man barely registered anymore; he had become, like the Dementors, just part of the background of the current year at Hogwarts.

There were more important things for teenagers to worry about after all. The fifth and Seventh years were increasingly aware of the shortening number of weeks that remained until final exams. Ravenclaw and Gryffindor were currently tied for the Quiddich cup, leading to a rather excessive amount of extra practice sessions, many of which seemed to happen at the crack of dawn. Valentine’s Day had only recently been and gone, bringing with it its usual influx of budding romances, humiliations and heartbreaks, all of which were infinitely distracting and now many an over emotional teen could be found staring wistfully into space, or bursting into tears at the drop of a hat. Perhaps the most distracting of all however, was the reinstatement of Hogsmeade weekends after a three month halt, bringing much joy to the third years and above. 

From the window of her office, high up in the castle, Minerva McGonagall watched the students headed for the village and marvelled. Oh some might claim that today’s youth had lost its innocence - that teenagers were being forced to grow up too quickly - but she thought the students were doing just fine on that account. There wasn’t an adult within the school who wasn’t riddled with nervous exhaustion and constant worry, but the children had barely seemed knocked by the events of recent months. She was glad of it in many ways. Let them have their care-free innocence. Let the adults worry and the children ramble on obliviously through the complicated personal emotional mine-field better known as adolescence. They would have plenty of time to worry about escaped dark wizards and rampaging monsters when they were grown up, let them chose to forget about them for now. 

She might even admit to a touch of jealousy. Her own youth seemed so long ago now she could barely remember it. But she did remember that the ‘end of the world’ dramas never actually involved an apocalypse and she doubted they ever would for any of her students either. 

Well maybe they would for one perhaps. Although in saying that Harry Potter had been doing rather well lately. Quiddich injuries aside, he’d apparently managed to stay out of trouble since Christmas. A fine feat indeed considering everything that was going on. She wasn’t fool enough to believe he was keeping his nose completely clean, and she remained vigilant, but so far this term Harry had remained if not a model student, then no more troublesome than any other. 

In fact the only incident this term involving Harry appeared to be an attack against him, rather than something he had precipitated. The ransacking of his dorm recently, and the resultant destruction of most of his belongings hadn’t seemed to disturb the young man overly, but it had sent the school into a couple of days of wild speculation. The culprit had not been identified as of yet, although Minerva was determined to catch them eventually; she would not tolerate bullying in her house. It had to be a Gryffindor, no-one else would have had access. The initial rumours that it had been Sirius Black were preposterous of course. There was no way the man could get into the school undetected, let alone all the way into the second year boy’s dormitory in Gryffindor Tower. 

Not that she wasn’t concerned for Harry with Sirius Black still on the loose - she was well aware of the threat he posed to her most challenging charge - but as long as Harry continued as he had been these last few weeks, keeping within the rules, not attempting to solve the world’s problems by himself and therefore allowing the adults around him to do their jobs and protect him, she was fairly sure he would be all right. No, right now she had another student to worry about. 

Returning to her desk, Minerva sat down and let her eyes drift casually to the second year currently knelt near her filing cabinets, painstakingly sorting the previous year’s seventh year’s files into boxes to make way for the incoming first years in the September. It was a task she usually left until the Easter holidays, and was not normally one she would assign as a detention, but she felt that this particular student was both up to complexity of the task, and was worthy of the responsibility it entailed. The surprise in young Hermione’s eyes when Minerva had informed her of her task this morning was proof enough that she understood the trust being placed in her. The personal files of students, former or otherwise, were not something students were normally given access to. 

Minerva hoped her message was clear. This was a detention, a punishment for her transgression, but her actions had not lost her the trust of her Head of House. That was the key here. Trust. Hermione was seriously in danger of losing her reputation for trustworthiness, and with good reason. Glancing down at the file on her desk, Minerva found herself shaking her head in dismay. 

Last year’s record was somewhat dotted, but nothing severe. Breaking curfew, speaking out of turn (all incidents reported by S. Snape Minerva noted with a mixture of mild irritation and resignation), a note from Madame Pince in the Library, voicing her concern over Hermione’s rather advanced and often Darker choice of reading material, and her frequent requests to access the restricted section of the library. This year’s however was far more worrying. The incident on the train at the start of term. Lying. Refusing to accept responsibility for her actions. Refusing to back down when caught in a lie. Theft. Possession of restricted potions ingredients. Brewing a restricted potion. Attempting to impersonate another student by use of a restricted potion (assumedly to gain access to the common room of another house). And now yet another incident of making up stories. 

This time it was a dog in the library. For Merlin’s sake she’d only been out of the hospital wing following the polyjuice incident a week and she’d had half the school in uproar. Screaming and shouting that there was a great big dog at the back of the library. Scaring the other students and causing no end of chaos. Of course when Madame Pince and two seventh year prefects had gone to investigate, there had been no sign of the fictitious dog. Not even a trace. What they had discovered was that where Hermione had ‘sighted’ the ‘vicious, snarling, rabid’ creature, was deep within the restricted section, where she had been without permission.

This habit Hermione was acquiring for telling tall tales was deeply troubling. As was her insistence that she wasn’t lying. In fact Hermione had been so adamant about it, Minerva had felt she’d had no choice but to send for Madame Pomfry to check her over; just to make sure she wasn’t unwell, or under the influence of some kind of potion or spell that could make her hallucinate. The school nurse had found nothing amiss; unfortunate in its own way, because now it meant Hermione was deliberately making things up to... 

That was the mystery. Why? Trying to get Hermione to explain her actions or to open up about anything that was concerning or troubling her had been a resounding failure, and had been met with nothing but anger and indignation. Minerva’s only hope lay in careful observation, and Hermione’s parents. As Head of House and Deputy Headmistress Minerva had been left with little choice but to write to the Grangers, explaining both the transgressions past and present, and also her concern; she had also requested any information they might have that could explain their daughter’s actions, any issues or concerns her parents might have that could shed light on the situation.

In the meantime, or at least until she could fathom out the root of this sudden change in behaviour, Minerva hoped that the tried tested method of a mix of firm discipline and responsibility would set Hermione back on the right path. Maybe give the girl some kind of stable ground on which to stand on if she was feeling off balance or worried.

And if nothing else, hopefully act as a deterrent.

~HpɸqH~

 

“Just admit you made it up.”

“But I didn’t! It was there!”

“So!? McGonagall isn’t going to let you out of detention until you do, so just tell her what she wants to hear!”

“But that would be lying!”

“She already thinks you’re lying!”

“But I’m not!”

“Urrrrrghhh! You’re impossible!”

Every day. For a week. The same old argument. Every day Hermione would spend at least two hours in detention with McGonagall following the library incident, weekends included, and every time Harry saw her and Ron together, they would be having the same argument. It was beginning to get on his nerves. The problem was he could see both sides. Sort of. He wasn’t convinced there had been a dog, in fact he was pretty sure there hadn’t been – after all how could a great big dog get into the castle, all the way to the fourth floor and into the restricted section of the library without being seen by anyone else but Hermione? 

Still, whether he believed it or not, Hermione clearly did, and she was right when she said there was the principal of the thing. If she believed she wasn’t lying, then really he and Ron, as her friends, should be backing her up. But then again, as good friends, they should also tell her when she was being an idiot and how to get herself out of trouble, which was exactly what Ron was trying to do. They were both right, and they were both wrong. And neither was backing down. Stubborn as mules, both of them. 

“ _I’m_ impossible!? Just because you have the ethical and moral awareness of a table lamp doesn’t mean the rest of us do!”

“Moral awareness of a... In case you haven’t noticed Hermione, you’re the one in trouble, not me! I’m trying to help!”

“Help!? Help!? Turning me into a liar, making me look like some kind of attention seeking girl who cried wolf is your idea of help is it?!”

“ _I_ thought you said it was a _dog_?”

Instinct, a premonition, or simply reflex Harry wasn’t sure, but the moment the words left Ron’s mouth Harry had hold of Hermione’s arm to prevent her from launching herself across the breakfast table to throttle the redhead. If looks could kill, Ron would be a bubbling puddle of goo on the floor right now given the expression on Hermione’s face. 

Unfortunately, despite the fact that he’d prevented Hermione from doing Ron any serious damage, the pair of them had been shouting loud enough to draw quite a bit of attention. Without the shield of their raised voices, all three could now hear the whispers flying around the great hall. 

_“...gone mad...”_

_“... heard it happens to mudbloods... not meant to have magic...”_

_“...just wants attention...”_

_“...hard living in Potter’s shadow...”_

_“...Maybe he did something to her...”_

_“...mental...”_

_“...gonna send her to st mungos...”_

“Hermione...” Harry spoke quietly, beseechingly, tugging her arm in the hope that she would sit down. He knew how hurtful whispers could be. Knew how cruel the other students could be when they thought they had hold of a juicy bit of gossip. He’d been living with the constant whispers of the Heir of Slytherin since he’d accidentally spoken Parseltongue during that ill fated duelling club. The best thing he’d found was to ignore it. Then at least it seemed people stopped whispering where he could hear. 

But Hermione was too wound up. Her eyes met his and he could see the plea in them. _Support me. Back me up. Believe me,_ they seemed to cry. But as much as he wanted to, he couldn’t. He didn’t believe her and she must have seen that. Her expression went cold, and then she sniffed, raised her chin and gathering herself with as much dignity as she could muster, climbed over the bench seat and strode from the hall, pristine robes billowing behind her.

~HpɸqH~

 

Not even Harry and Ron believed her. Her two best friends thought she’d made it up. The two people who she’d thought knew her better than anyone, and they still thought she’d made it up. They hadn’t been much better about the man on the train back at the start of term either, but everyone had been so insistent, even the guard, she’d soon begun to doubt what she’d seen. Harry had suggested she’d dreamt it, saying some of his own dreams were terrifyingly real at times. And maybe she had dreamt what she thought she saw on the train, she couldn’t tell for certain. But she certainly hadn’t dreamt the Dog in the library.

Ron thought she was mad, and Harry kept looking at her with pitying eyes. She couldn’t bear that look. She’d never looked at him like that when he said things. Why couldn’t he believe her?

Better to avoid them, and the common room. She wasn’t much welcome in Gryffindor Tower at the moment. To say her housemates were displeased with her was an understatement. She’d lost Gryffindor a hundred points - twenty points initially, then a further ten points each time she’d refused to back down when McGonagall spoke to her. The only reason McGonagall had stopped docking points was that she didn’t want to see the rest of her house punished because Hermione refused to tell the truth. A hundred points lost had already knocked them off the top of the table for the house cup, and dropped them down to third. Just twenty points ahead of Slytherin. The second, fourth and sixth years all had potions with Slytherin tomorrow. That twenty point lead would vanish before first break. There would be no refuge for her in Gryffindor Tower for quite some time.

She was banned from the library until the end of the month too. One of her favourite places and she was banned. Madame Pince had wanted her banned until the end of the year at least, but thankfully Professor McGonagall had over-ruled the librarian stating that the second years would all have Easter assignments to complete and access to the library was essential. Still the ban was galling and had left her with nowhere to go. 

The main courtyard was deserted; it was too cold for anyone else to be out. But huddled up in her cloak on one of the benches, Hermione ran the scene in the library over and over in her head. She hadn’t lied. The Dog had been real, huge and really scary. 

And its eyes. Hermione remembered the eyes. Dusky grey blue. No dog had eyes like that. Not that colour nor filled with such malice and madness. 

Closing her own eyes, Hermione concentrated on the memory. It had all happened so fast. The library had been busy, noisier than normal. Lots of first years. Madame Pince had been bustling about trying to help them and also keep them quiet. A group of fifth years had come in talking loudly, Madame Pince had stalked off to chastise them and that’s when she’d made her move to the restricted section.

Looking for Dark creatures. Monsters. That section was near the back. As she’d come closer she’d heard something. Growling... and something else? She’d stopped at the end of one of the aisles, and that’s when she’s seen it. The Dog. 

It had been huge, shaggy, but skinny too. Not like one of those naturally slender looking dogs, but emaciated looking. 

Stalking. It had been stalking something. Someone. Not her. Someone else. 

There had been someone else there! The other sound! It was someone talking... no pleading. She couldn’t remember words just the sound. The voice! She knew the voice. Who? Who was it? 

Then she’d screamed. She hadn’t meant to. She’d just been so startled. That huge head had turned to her. Snarling. Huge teeth, bared as it growled. Fury and rage in those eyes. Oh Merlin those eyes. It was going to pounce on her. It was going to kill her. Death. There was death in those eyes.

She’d screamed again and run. 

She hadn’t made it up. It had been there. The Dog had been there. She hadn’t lied. She hadn’t. She hadn’t. The Dog was real and it was dangerous and it was loose in the school. 

Could it be Salazar Slytherin’s monster? Somehow she doubted it. That beast wasn’t the kind of creature to bring about a drop down dead in an instant kind of death. It was more of a tear someone limb from limb and play fetch with the remains kind of death. Could it petrify someone? Certainly, but only in the pee their knickers sense of the word. 

She hadn’t lied. That Dog had been there. And that meant there were now two monsters roaming the castle. And she was the only one who knew, because no-one would believe her. 

She wasn’t the only one who knew though was she? Someone else had been there! Someone else had seen it!

If only she could work out who it was.

~HpɸqH~

 

The ice edged wind whipped callously around the stands around the Quiddich pitch, and without the shelter of numerous others to huddle with, Hermione was feeling the effects of the chill full force. She wanted to be indoors, but it wasn’t like she had anywhere she could go. She still had a week of her library ban to go, and the common room still felt as frosty as the air outside.

At least Ron had given up trying to get her to back down about the Dog. Now he and Harry just rolled their eyes at her if she brought it up. So she didn’t. Bring it up that was. Avoiding them had been lonely, and there was only so much isolation her stubborn pride could withstand. The last week had been like the beginning of first year all over again. Shunned by everyone, no friends, no one to talk to. No. Pride was one thing, but loneliness was quite another. She wasn’t going to back down, she would still do her detentions and ride out her library ban, but she wouldn’t give up Harry and Ron. 

She would just have to work out the mystery herself. And then they, everyone, would see that she wasn’t delusional. 

Wrapped up in a thick winter cloak over her pristine school uniform - which today included two pairs of her thickest tights, an under-vest and cardigan as well as her standard white shirt, black skirt, tie and robes, red woollen gloves and red and gold Gryffindor scarf - Hermione hunkered down on the bench and stubbornly tried to remind herself why she was out here watching Harry’s quiddich practice. 

Matches she wouldn’t miss for the world. Even if she hadn’t felt house loyalty she would have come for Harry, but training? What had she been thinking? The common room might not exactly be welcoming but she could have stayed in bed. It was barely dawn, it was freezing and although Ron, who was sat beside her, seemed enthralled by the odd little games, activities and exercises the Gryffindor team were throwing themselves into with their usual single minded enthusiasm, she was quite frankly bored. 

It wasn’t that she didn’t like Quiddich. Because she did, to an extent. And it wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate Harry’s skill on a broom, because she would have to be blind not to acknowledge that. She was actually damned proud of him. Youngest seeker in a century, and a damned good one if all the quiddich nuts were to be believed. She’d read up on the game, and on the house stats from the last thirty years or so, mainly so she didn’t seem completely ignorant and partially because she loved to correct Ron when he misquoted (he turned an adorable colour when she did) and she knew that Harry could at least be partially thanked for pulling their house out of its rather lengthy losing streak. But that didn’t mean she was interested in watching him, and some of her other housemates doing seemingly random skills based drills. The games were interesting, training was not. 

And nothing Ron said would convince her otherwise. Damn but she wished she’d brought a book. For some fool reason she’d allowed Ron to convince her she wouldn’t need her bag. She could have been doing her homework, or reading ahead for next week’s new topic in potions or herbology, or researching the elusive monsters loose in the school. She might have been banned from the library, but the girl who sat next to her in Magical Lore (the class all the Muggle-borns or Muggle raised took while the others took Muggle Studies) Lisa Turpin, had agreed to check out anything she needed for her. Of course she couldn’t ask Lisa to get her anything from the restricted section, but at least with her help Hermione felt like she wasn’t slipping behind with her homework. 

Rubbing her gloved hands together, Hermione tried to get some warmth into the stiff digits, and failing that, shoved them under her armpits, her attention drifting from the streaks of red in front of her - who seemed to in the middle of some kind of reflex training with a really mean bludger - and wander over the pitch. There were no banners today, and the towers were bare of their usual dressings, leaving them to look like skeletal figures looming over the oval of frost white grass. Despite the wind, the only movement around was that of the team, whose red and gold uniforms stood out brightly in the barely risen sun. 

The frost was so thick on the ground it almost looked like snow, broken as it was only by the few footprints that crossed it. The grass was just about peeking through where the team had trudged out into the middle of the pitch, in other places the footprints were more like grey dents. Hermione found herself following the tracks. The round dots that were clearly made by dear, likely hours before dawn. A few paw prints – cats or foxes maybe? She couldn’t tell from up here. One set seemed to cling close to the edge of the pitch, only visible now as the sun came up and around. 

She kept following this set, wondering if the animal had been looking for a way out. And that’s when she saw it. Sat on its haunches mostly in the shadow of one of the towers, staring up at the sky. No, not at the sky, at the players on their brooms. The Dog. 

It was here. 

“Ron! Look!” Elbowing Ron in the side, Hermione desperately groped for his attention. “Ron!”

“What? Hermione...” Ron groaned keeping his attention firmly fixed on the Gryffindor team. 

“Ron!!” Hermione practically begged, now pulling on his arm as she continued to keep her eyes fixed on the huge black dog on the edge of the pitch. As she shouted though, it turned. It looked right at her. Turning to face Ron she practically yanked him from his seat and belted down to the front of the stands. “The Dog! The Dog it’s there! Look!”

“Hermione!” Ron yelped, stumbling behind her. When he reached the front of the stands, he glared balefully at her.

“Just look!” Hermione snapped, pointing in the direction of the base of the Ravenclaw tower.

With a sigh, Ron looked. “I don’t see any...”

“The Dog! Its right...” Hermione turned back to the tower. The dog was gone. “... there.”

“You and that bloody dog! You’re mental you are.” Ron huffed angrily. “You nearly broke my bloody arm and for what? A shadow? You’ve lost it Hermione!”

“But...”

“Hey you two.” The new voice made both Hermione and Ron snap their gazes from one another and they found themselves looking at a rather displeased looking Oliver Wood, Captain of the Gryffindor Quiddich team. “If you’re gonna disturb my practice sessions you’re gonna haf’ta leave. I’ll not have Gryffindor lose the cup this year because you two distracted the team in training.”

“Sorry Wood.” Ron mumbled contritely, shooting daggers out of the corner of his eye at Hermione. “We were just going anyway. Hermione needs to see the nurse.”

“No I don...” Hermione began to protest, but the look Ron sent her was enough to silence her. He was really annoyed. Feeling a tug on her arm, she let herself be led away, too embarrassed to protest. 

They were almost back at the school when Hermione broke off her silent communion with the ground just in front of her feet and glanced back over her shoulder. 

The huge black dog with dusky grey blue eyes stared back at her from the shade of whomping willow for just a moment, before it seemingly vanished into the tree itself.

~HpɸqH~

 

By the time the end of the month came, and with it an end of her library ban, Hermione was about ready to crawl out of her skin. She was beginning to think Ron might have the right of it and she really had lost her mind. The Dog was everywhere she went. Its shadow tracking across the grounds in the glow of the waning moon. A glimpse of a large black blur darting around a corner in a hallway, only when she turned the corner herself there would be nothing there. The sound of running paws in an empty corridor. Desperate lonesome howls on the night of the full moon.

She hadn’t told Harry or Ron about any of this. She’d truly learnt her lesson after what happened at Quiddich practice. Ron had calmed down quickly, but he hadn’t been impressed with her to say the least. She knew he was embarrassed, and that he felt she’d somehow damaged his chances of being picked for the house team next year by getting them into trouble with Wood. Harry had been more sympathetic, but had begun to watch her worriedly all the time, like she was about to snap at any moment. She’d overheard them talking one night in the common room. They hadn’t known she was there and they’d gone through all kinds of theories to explain her ‘madness’. Everything from a left over side effect of the polyjuice potion accident, to being so scared of the Monster from the Chamber picking off Muggle-Borns it had driven her round the bend. 

The last was positively insulting. She was a Gryffindor! Scared senseless indeed. Pah!

Whatever the monster from the chamber was, she wasn’t scared of it. She had a rational and healthy respect for the threat it posed, even if it hadn’t petrified anyone in weeks, but she was not out of her wits with terror. Letting it get to her like that would be counter-productive, especially if she planned to work out just what it was. 

Which is exactly what she planned. Right now in fact. Her ban was over, the last class of the day finished, and she was on her way to the library. 

Head held high, she pushed open the large oak doors and strode confidently into the familiar space. She could feel Madame Pince’s stare boring into her as she made her way through the stacks but she ignored it. Provided she didn’t break any of Pince’s thousands of rules regarding proper conduct in the presence of books (In Pince’s mind, books were clearly the betters of humans) then Hermione knew she was safe. Professor McGonagall had assured her that she would not allow Madame Pince to bar her re-entry to the library once her ban was over, no matter how much the miserable she-vulture protested. 

Finding the correct section she was finally able to escape the hawk like stare, and after a few moments browsing titles with a considering eye, she select a few she thought might prove helpful, found a table and settled down to read. 

It was in Daloop’s Bestiary Horribilis that she finally, _finally_ , found what she’d been looking for. All the evidence fit. Granted there was no mention of petrification but it had everything else... this had to be it. Placing a piece of parchment over the page she waved her wand over it muttering a duplication spell, then settled down to read in more detail. She liked to make notes and Madame Pince would have stroke, and likely cause her some seriously bodily harm if she wrote on one of the books. 

Oh dear god. Oh if this was it... Oh dear god. How on earth had a creature like this been moving around the school without anyone noticing? 

Wait a minute. Water... there had been water on the floor during two attacks. What went all through the school, that no-one ever thought about? Water water water...

 _Pipes!_

“You! Granger! Second year curfew was an hour ago! Out!”

Startled, Hermione leapt to her feet, finding herself looking down the business end of a feather duster being held by an irate librarian. “G.Going. Right now. Just let me get my things.”

Edging around the furious crone, Hermione quickly replaced her borrowed books, grabbed her bag, and clutching her scribbled on parchment, she made her way towards the exit. She wouldn’t give Pince the satisfaction of seeing her run, but she genuinely hadn’t realised how late it was, and being caught by a prefect out after curfew was more trouble than she needed right now. 

Of course, with her run of luck lately and seeing as it _was_ more trouble than she needed, the first person she encountered upon leaving the library was in fact, a prefect. A particularly officious one at that. 

“Granger! What are you doing out here? You should have been back in your common room an hour ago.” The tall, blonde haired sixth year bit out, folding her arms over her chest. 

“I know. I got caught up in my reading and lost track of time.” Hermione replied in what she hoped was an apologetic tone. This prefect was a Ravenclaw, making a point that she was studying she hoped would buy her some leeway; Ravenclaw was after all the house of the studious. 

Pursing her lips, the prefect studied Hermione for a moment then softened slightly, shaking her head. “You’re Muggle-Born aren’t you? You really shouldn’t be out after curfew you know. That monster could still be out there. Come on, I’ll walk you back to your common room.”

For a moment Hermione was stunned, then felt like laughing. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re a Muggle-born yourself, and I hardly think the monster is going to leave either of us alone because of your prefect’s badge.”

“No, but I have this.” The prefect announced a little triumphantly, holding up a small hand mirror. At Hermione’s bemused expressed, she rolled her eyes in a very Ravenclaw way; it was expression they adopted a lot when talking to Gryffindors, and although Hermione often sympathised when it was directed at the likes of Ron, Neville or Seamus, she was rather affronted by it. Her affront faded to genuine appreciation when the Ravenclaw explained. “To see around corners. This way, if we see it coming, we can find a better route. You might want to face the monster with all your Gryffindor courage, but I’d rather still be animate by the end of my patrol.”

“Sounds reasonable to me.” Hermione shrugged. The prefect wasn’t planning to take her anywhere she hadn’t already planned to go – she needed to tell Harry about what she’d found anyway. She’d considered going to straight to McGonagall, but somehow she felt the professor was more likely to believe something Harry told her right now. And the prefect’s plan was a good one. Hurrying a little, she quickly caught up and fell in step with the taller girl.

The first of what was likely to be many corners was quickly upon them, and obediently Hermione hung slightly back, peering around the other girl’s arm to get a glimpse in the mirror. 

And that’s when everything seemed to happen at once. Behind her there was an almighty crash, beside her the prefect gasped, then knocked into her hard, just as she spun around the source of the noise. Knocked off balance, she yelped and stumbled, her attention turning to the stiff grey continence of the prefect, falling frozen to the floor with a deeply inorganic ‘thonk’. 

Petrified. Hermione screamed. Eyes fixed on the fallen girl. 

Something growled. She looked up. Not down the hall, but towards the sound. 

The Dog! The Dog was there! Growling, snarling, charging towards her. 

She felt rooted in place, unable to move in her terror. Instinctively she raised her arms to protect her face just as the huge beast leapt, knocking her to the floor. 

Pinning her down. Long course black hair caught in her throat and nose, the smell of unwashed dog overpowering her senses making her retch and struggled harder as the great beast lay across the top half of her body and head. 

Just lay there. No teeth. No claws. Just lay on top of her. Smothering her. Blinding her. She felt dizzy. Her legs stopped kicking, no longer working under her control. Dimly she was aware that the Dog was completely silent. It wasn’t even breathing. 

She held her breath too. To conserve what little air she had. To stop the hair from getting in her lungs. To keep the smell from her nose. Frantically, instinctively she forced her head from side to side, until a sharp pain filled her face, the beast above her made a noise like a stifled yelp, and she could finally turn her face toward cool fresh air. She opened her mouth, mindless of the wet that now poured from her nose. She opened her eyes. 

And the breath she longed to take stuck in her throat as she watched a seemingly endless procession of scales slither past her view. 

It was too much. In the hallway outside of the library, buried under a Dog no-one believed existed, next to the petrified form of Ravenclaw prefect Penelope Clearwater, Hermione Granger fainted. 


	7. Fear No Evil

They said time is the fire in which men burn. They said time was a predator, every second a step closer to its prey. They said time was the teacher, who eventually killed all its pupils. 

They said time healed all wounds.

Remus Lupin knew it was all these things and more. Time was a surgeon’s scalpel capable of great healing but also of inflicting the most grievous of wounds. Time was the greatest counsellor, but no counsellor worth his or her salt told people what they wanted to hear all the time. 

Time was a contradiction. It was perhaps the only commodity it was possible to have too much and too little of at once. 

That had certainly been the case for Remus since December. Time had shown its true elastic nature in the last two months. The first few weeks had been a frantic scramble; trying to get himself together, get his affairs in order while at the same time chase down any leads as to where Sirius might be, or might be headed. He’d gone to places in those first couple of weeks he had never dreamed of going, talked to people he’d spent his entire life avoiding, and in the end it had been for nothing. No-one had had any more information for him than could be gleaned from the Prophet. 

So he’d come to Hogwarts, a small voice in his head praying all the while that he was wrong. That Sirius would not have come here, that he would simply flee. Because for Sirius to come here meant his depravity had reached depths even beyond that which they had already seen. Treacherous and murderous, that much he already knew. Liar, betrayer, deceiver, killer. But to come here meant he would stoop even lower. Meant he would not be satisfied until he had completed what he had started eleven years ago. He would not be satisfied until both Peter and Harry were dead. To go after a child, any child, was just... 

Remus had no words to describe anyone who could deliberately, purposefully and remorselessly take the life of a child. The very notion of it offended him to the very core of his being, went against something so fundamental in his soul it stirred the wolf’s rage to almost uncontrollable levels. 

As much as it had sickened him, he’d been forced to cling to that rage. It was all there was to sustain him. Keep him going when; as the weeks passed his progress had slowed to nothing and time had seemed to fly past and yet all the while drag unbearably. Getting in and out of the castle had proved not impossible but challenging to say the least. It had all seemed so much simpler fifteen years ago. Dumbledore had clearly increased security, and although Remus was aware of numerous tunnels and passages between Hogsmeade and Hogwarts, getting to them without being spotted had proved incredibly difficult. 

It hadn’t taken him long to work out that Sirius was already at the school. In the days running up to his first full moon since arriving at Hogwarts, when his wolf senses were at their sharpest, Sirius’ scent had filled the passageways that riddled the castle. That knowledge had only spurred him on, made him more determined. But all the determination in the world could not delay the moon. 

He’d known he wouldn’t catch up with Sirius quickly, but for some reason he hadn’t thought he would still be at the school when the moon came. He hadn’t been prepared. He’d had to find somewhere to go. Somewhere he could keep the people of Hogsmeade safe from the beast within. 

An abandoned cottage on the edge of the Dark Forest, (better known to most as the Forbidden Forest) had proved a lucky find. The cottage itself was deeply decayed, uninhabitable, but the stone cellar had been sound; well sound enough for his purposes. A few hours spent using timbers salvaged from the rotting dwelling above had shored up the hatch. A well practiced hand had set the wards from the inside and what few possessions he had he’d shrunk and tucked safely behind a loose stone high up in one of the walls. 

All he’d been able to do was sit in the dark and wait for it to come, knowing how the wolf would chafe at the tiny unfamiliar space and that without the Muggle chemicals he’d taken to using in recent years the wolf would be mobile, agitated and furious before it even realised it was confined. Knowing before the sun had even set that the pain of transformation would be nothing compared to what he would wake to, and that his recovery would be long; wasting precious valuable time he should be in pursuit of Sirius. 

He hadn’t been wrong. It had been the worst moon he could remember in a very long time. He’d lain on the cold cellar floor for days, unable to move through agony in his body. Not for the first time he’d longed for the days when he would meet the morning after the full moon with the comforting healing touch of Madame Pomfry, or later in time, the soothing whispers and the gentle ministrations of the lover he could not now even mourn. 

Worst of all though, had been the time it had allowed him. Time he would rather have spent lost in rage and single minded pursuit. Trapped, his waking moments had been filled with thought and thinking had proved dangerous. Idle musing had passed through his mind, ideas that pricked and pulled at him. 

He’d tried to push them away, but even as he focussed on healing himself, on escaping his self imposed prison, on working out new ways to complete his mission they’d nagged at him. They’d nagged at him all the way back to London on the Knight bus, clawing their way through his worries, fears and the constant whining consciousness that the money he was spending should have been for his potion. They nagged at him as he’d spent time trying to shadow Snape, looking for a way to steal a strand of the man’s hair to use for the polyjuice potion he’d spent a ridiculous amount of money on. They’d nagged at him even as he’d left Peter, having just sworn once again to take Sirius Black’s life, and protect Peter and Harry with his own life if necessary. 

In fact they nagged at him more then. After hearing Peter’s story. Doubts. Questions. Confusion. As the days ticked by his confusion only grew. He knew Sirius was in the castle. Knew in all likelihood Sirius rarely left it and could move around practically unhindered day or night, and yet both Harry and Peter were not only alive, but fairly unaware of Sirius’ presence. Hell, Harry didn’t seem to have any idea at all. This wasn’t surprising because the areas of the castle that Remus had picked up Sirius’ scent most strongly, led him to believe it was Peter, not Harry, Sirius was hunting. 

But why hadn’t he struck? What was he doing? The thought occurred to Remus that Sirius wanted Peter alone, but twelve dead Muggles, and at least twice that many injured or needing obliviating were proof enough of Sirius’ disregard for bystanders and witnesses. It didn’t make sense. 

And it wasn’t the only thing that didn’t make sense. He’d known the story Peter had fed Dumbledore and the press was baloney from the start, but he understood why Peter had been forced to lie and yet the ‘truth’ still held an odd ring to it. He couldn’t put his finger on it. Peter had no cause to lie to him, and his story did make sense, but...

Like weevils the doubts burrowed deep into his consciousness, distracting him when he needed focus. Delaying when so much time had already been wasted. 

Time ticked on. He watched more than he acted, and berated himself daily for it. Still Sirius failed to make his move, and although Remus was of course relieved, he was also frustrated. Confused. The doubts were playing havoc with his resolve.

The first moon became the second. He’d been prepared for it this time. He’d woken not to the pain of broken bones and torn flesh, but to his own vomit, continued nausea and a lasting lethargy of body and mind. Oh the ignorance of those who considered Muggles inferior; their lack of magic had only given them cause to find more ingenious ways to achieve that which wizards could accomplish with a flick of a wand, and sometimes achieve things wizards had not a hope of achieving. No wizard had ever stepped foot on the moon for example, and while it had taken centuries for wizards to find a mixture that would defeat a werewolf’s natural resistance to magical potions, Muggles had had chemicals that could render a werewolf utterly senseless for decades or even centuries.

The only real problem with the chemical route, were the side effects. Even now, two days on, Remus could feel the woolliness at the edges of his mind, the heaviness in his step. Normally it wouldn’t matter, stacking shelves hardly required any real mental or physical exertion. But he was not back at the supermarket; he was trying to track a known mass murderer through the rabbit warren of tunnels within Hogwarts Castle.

It was clear Sirius knew he was being tracked now too. He’d taken to hunting Black by night, making it easier to move around, but night after night he would come unstuck. The trail would lead him into a tunnel or passage he couldn’t get down, or would vanish altogether; a stark reminder that James had known and Sirius still knew these tunnels far better than he or Peter ever had. 

Peter. A stroke of luck had given Peter three days of grace a week; he now spent three days a week at St Mungos. Unfortunately after ascertaining that Sirius didn’t follow Peter down south, Remus realised he’d lost the one clue of predictability he’d had. 

It was frustrating. The endless nightly searches for a moving target. More than once he’d made his way to the highest passageways, only to glance out of a window to see Sirius trotting across the moonlit grounds. Searching the Forbidden Forest was a hopeless endeavour, one which he had given up on after a week of aimless wandering. Wherever he went, Sirius was not.

Or if he was in sight, then he would do something so utterly confusing and dumbfounding that Remus would be struck motionless with confusion. Those niggling, nagging doubts would creep in to weaken his resolve again, and by the time he would pull himself together, Black would be gone. 

He had to be stronger than that. He’d resolved, as he’d waited for this last moon, to not let himself be swayed. He would do as he’d promised. He would not fail. He would be stronger than this. 

It all came back to one simple truth. One simple undeniable fact that all the odd behaviour and doubts in the world could not overcome. Sirius had been Secret Keeper. It was his new mantra, one he repeated to himself, a whisper under his breath as he picked his way through the rubble and centuries of filth and dust in the fourth floor passageways. 

_“...He’s a murderer. He killed James. He Killed Lily. He Killed those Muggles. He’ll Kill Harry. He’ll Kill Peter. He’s a murderer. He killed James. He Killed Lily. He Killed those Muggles. He’ll Kill Harry. He’ll Kill Peter. He’s a murderer. He killed James...”_

It was so dark in the tunnel, even his better than human night vision was failing him. One hand braced against the tunnel wall, he was practically feeling his way. He’d never liked this tunnel, although it was one he’d used most often. It led from the hidden stair behind the south wall of the main staircase to the corridor just outside the library. There was a smaller side tunnel just up ahead that led into the back of the library itself; as a student he’d used this particular tunnel to sneak into the restricted section of the library on numerous occasions. He couldn’t use his wand to cast a lumos charm, he needed both hands to help him balance as he tried to navigate the uneven and often unstable floor. 

Something wobbled and gave way under his foot. A fallen stone. Stumbling, Remus’ shoulder thumped hard against the wall of the passageway as he braced himself against a fall, his ankle momentarily screaming at the odd angle it was forced into until he could retrieve it. He hissed, straightening up and gingerly testing his weight on his foot. His ankle smarted but it wasn’t sprained, only twisted. The pain would pass. 

It wasn’t like he was in any rush right now. He’d grown impatient and snuck into the school earlier than usual tonight, picking up his search where he’d left off the night before. But soon he would reach a dead-end. Or at least a point where he would have to venture out of the tunnels and into a corridor to continue, and given the hour there was too much of a risk of being spotted for now.

He supposed he could stop where he was. He had planned to stop a bit further on, or maybe sneak into the back of the library, but here was a good a place as any. Feeling his way, Remus lowered himself to the ground and stretched his legs out as best he could, taking the weight off his sore ankle. 

He was hungry, tired and cold through to the bone despite the warmth of the castle. The cellar of the abandoned cottage kept the rain, snow and wind out, but it couldn’t keep away the cold, or the pervasive damp. Every piece of clothing he had, every blanket seemed wet to the touch now, no matter how many drying charms he used. He longed for a hot bath and a good meal. Even one of those Muggle premade meals that were heated in a ‘microwave’ (and weren’t they fascinating inventions in and of themselves) would do him right now, even if they did taste strangely chemical. Smelling the aromas drifting from the Great Hall during meal times over the last couple of months had been nothing short of torture. 

Oh yes he remembered Hogwarts food. It was funny, but he’d never eaten as well as he had when he was at school. Huge roasts, and piles of mashed potatoes. Full cooked breakfasts. Cakes and sticky buns. Steaming thick stews with great lumps of meat so tender they just melted in the mouth, and vegetables so soft yet flavoursome even the most diehard teenage carnivore would fight his own brother for the last piece of swede. Curry on a Tuesday, with piles of fluffy white rice, and soft flat bread filled with sultanas and coconut. Fish and Chips on Friday. Huge pieces of cod, haddock or plaice coated in rich, crispy batter with chips as fat as a carpenters thumb; Ketchup and brown-sauce, (Tartar sauce for the more _refined_ diners) and about a gallon of vinegar. Great bowls of thick sticky porridge with cream and honey. Rice-pudding, and hot apple pie. Chocolate Mousse so divine with every spoon the room would be trying not to make orgasmic sounds of bliss. 

Then there were custard tarts, and cherry trifles, and chocolate cake, and those pastry slices filled with gooey chocolate sauce that he never could remember the name of and had never found anywhere else and profiteroles and...

Remus hadn’t even been aware he’d lost himself in a daydream of chocolate based deserts until he was startled from it by the sound of voices from the other side of the panels that separated the passageway from the corridor beyond. 

_“Now stay behind me, and I’ll check around the corner.”_

_“If you tilt the mirror a little more...”_

Remus hadn’t recognised the first voice, but the second one seemed familiar. He’d spent a fair amount of time shadowing Harry through the halls and he was pretty sure that the voice belonged to one of his friends. 

_“I know what I’m doing Granger. Just stay back would you?”_

_“Sorry.”_

Granger.... Hermione. That was her name wasn’t it? She, Harry and Harry’s other friend... Molly Prewitt, now Weasley’s, boy... Ron, that was it. She, Harry and Ron Weasley seemed somewhat inseparable, although they’d had some kind of falling out recently. Whatever had happened had apparently calmed down and Remus was glad. He was glad Harry had good friends – he of all people knew just how precious good friends were, and just how much they could make even the most horrible and painful of circumstances so much easier to deal with. 

Feeling guilty for spying, Remus was about to get to his feet and continue his slow trek down the tunnel, when the world beyond the panels seemed to go mad. There was a crash, a yelp, a sound like a solid stone statue hitting a stone floor but not hard enough to break, a growl and an all mighty scream. 

The tunnel exit was some distance away and a difficult scramble. The girls were just on the other side of the panels. Scrambling to his feet, ignoring the pain in his ankle, Remus threw his pitiful bulk against the fake wall. There was a muted thud and his hair filled with dust and dirt. The panel didn’t move.

Right, new tactic required. Bracing against the solid stone wall behind him, Remus brought up first one foot, then the other. Legs bent he closed his eyes and using strength few would realise he had in his thin frame, he pushed. 

Sweat trickled down his brow with the effort, but he could feel the panel giving. With all his strength he pushed, and with a final ominous creak the panel gave, tumbling him out into the hallway beyond and into the middle of a scene from one of his nightmares. 

Blood on the floor. 

A huge black dog standing over the body of a girl, another lying close by. 

A Familiar black dog. 

He was on his feet and his wand was in hand before he could fully take in the picture. Caught, the dog looked up and snarled. 

“Stupif....”

Too late. The dog leapt. Crashing into him, bodily knocking him to the floor and bounding off. Momentarily winded, Remus cursed, let out a growl of his own and rolling onto his belly scrambled back to his feet and gave chase. 

The dog had a good head start on him, but he had at least one advantage. 

“Reducto!” With a flick of his wand the section of stone above the tunnel the dog was about to run into exploded into a shower of fragments, the hallways filling with dust as the Dog yelped, losing its footing momentarily before taking off again, this time at a considerably slower pace given it was favouring one its front legs. 

Good. That evened things up a little. While the Dog had been halted and now slowed, Remus had kept running, closing the gap between them. He almost crowed with delight when he realised where the dog was headed. Oh Sirius might know the whole school better than most, but no-one knew the fourth floor like he did. 

Left at the end of the hall, right past the one legged knight, on past the tapestry of Twitching Herbert the Irritated and then...

Skidding into the disused classroom a mere few paces behind the animal, Remus flicked his wand with pin point accuracy, sending all the old desks and chairs sliding across the floor to pile up over the grate in the floor in the far corner. The Dog barely managed to dodge the wall of incoming wood before it turned back to Remus growling fiercely, hackles raised. 

Standing his ground, Remus held his wand before him with such a steady hand he even impressed himself. 

“At least have dignity to face me like a man.” 

The animal before him blurred then stretched, but Remus didn’t look away. His eyes were hard when he took in the face of Sirius Black, in the flesh for the first time in eleven years. Straggly unwashed hair hanging around his shoulders, matching the beard on his chin. Filth ground into every pour. Prison uniform in rags, covered by a long brown overcoat that was ripped and mud splattered. 

But underneath the muck and torn clothing, behind the dark shadows and signs of age and a harsh existence there were hints of the boy that once was, and the man Remus remembered. The same regal features, the same dusky-grey eyes; haunted but just as piercing as they ever were. A thousand images skipped through Remus’ mind; memories of those eyes dancing with mischief, that face alight with joy and laughter, those lips softened into a smile no-one ever saw but him. 

_‘...He’s a murderer. He killed James. He Killed Lily. He Killed those Muggles. He killed them and laughed. He betrayed you. He betrayed us all. He’ll kill Harry. He’ll kill Peter. He’s a murderer. He’s a murderer. He’s a murderer...’_

Remus’ hand tightened reflexively around his wand, knuckles white. When his words came they dripped with condescension; a sneering mocking drawl. “Well well Sirius, looking kind of ragged aren’t we? _Finally_ , the flesh reflects the madness within.”

“And you’d know all about the madness within wouldn’t you Remus?” Sirius Black threw back. There was scornful amusement in his tone, even as his eyes darted around the room for a moment before settling back on the tawny haired werewolf. Subtly, he took a sidestep, and then another. Subtle, but Remus caught it nonetheless and mirrored his movement. Keeping him in sight, keeping the gap between them. 

“You shouldn’t have come here Sirius. You should have run while you had the chance.” The words were spoken without any real thought, but as soon as they were said, Remus knew he’d meant them. 

_Why Sirius? Why didn’t you run? Why did you bring us to this?_

“Now where would the fun be in that?” Sirius replied glibly, taking another careful step. Edging round. Edging round so that...

“COLLOPORTUS DURO!*”

Sirius flinched and ducked as Remus flicked his wand, moving before the words had barely formed on Remus’ lips, but the spell wasn’t meant for him. The heavy wooden classroom door slammed shut with a sound that was an odd mixture of a squelch and grating of stone against stone. 

With a quick glance over his shoulder, Sirius straightened and rounded on Remus once more, his expression grim yet strangely wild. “Brilliant! Now you’ve got us both locked in here what’s the plan? Are you going to kill me Remus?” He laughed, a manic and mocking sound. “Well? Come on then! I’m right _he-yah!_ I’m clearly not going any _where_ ,” He spread his arms out wide. “And as you can see I’m completely unarmed! If you think you can do it, Go Ahead! Come on Remus take a shot!”

He was just stood there. Arms outstretched, even his fingers were spread, palms forward; like a man crucified without a cross. The words were there, the spell on the tip of Remus’ tongue. 

Sirius didn’t miss his hesitation. “What are you waiting for!? This is what you wanted wasn’t it!? This is why you’ve chased me around this bloody castle for months isn’t it?! Well come on then! Do it! One little spell and it’s all over with! One little unforgivable! No one need ever know! It’s not like I’d be able to tell them. Dead men tell no tales! So, come on. Let’s do this!” He crowed, goading merrily, then in a flash the manic almost hysterical glee was gone, replaced by a cruel twist of lips and narrowed eyes that were harbingers of his legendary talent for derisive verbal torment, “Or maybe haven’t you got the stomach for it? Is that it? The high and mighty Remus John Lupin. The conscience of the Marauders. The ethical and moral stalwart. The world’s first vegetarian werewolf. HA!” A bark of sardonic laughter, “Oh you could ever talk big, but never were much for the follow through. Mr Goody-Twom-shoes with his shiny prefect badge. Never one to get into trouble. Never one to rock the boat or cross the line. Always in the background, letting your friends carry the can, and in the meantime sticking your tongue so far up the professors arses you could taste the back of their teeth! OH Yes Sir! Please Sir! I’m so grateful to be let into school Sir! Oh Please let me lick your arse Sir!!” Sirius sing-songed in a grating falsetto, “You haven’t even got it in you to cast one small unforgivable to avenge your friends! You always were spineless Lupin...” 

“Decido Modax!**” Remus hissed, his wand lashing out like a broad swipe of a blade. 

This time, when Sirius instinctively brought his wand arm up to defend himself despite not having a wand to deflect the curse, the pungent mixed aroma of burnt flesh and blood filled the air. Letting out a cry of pain, Sirius clutched at his wounded limb even as the force of the spell knocked him off his feet. Without really being fully aware that he’d done it, Remus shot forward to loom over the prone figure, his breath coming in angry pants. Anger both at Sirius’ words, and also at himself, for letting the cruel barbs get to him. 

Reaching down he grabbed a fistful of Sirius’ shirtfront and his wand jabbed cruelly into the side of the escapee’s neck. “A lot can change in eleven years, Black. And I don’t need an unforgivable to kill you. There are a lot more decorative and painful ways to end your sorry excuse for an existence from this range. Like setting your head on fire...”

For the first time since their encounter began, Sirius’ eyes lost their manic gleam and flickered with genuine fear. His voice, far calmer than it had been before, held a strained raspy quality. “If you kill me Remus, you’ll never know the truth.”

“I know the truth.” Remus hissed back. His tone was strong, but even as he spoke, the voice in his head that had so plagued him these last weeks rattled at the bars of the cage into which he’d tried to force it.

“Do you? Or is it that you only think you do?” Sirius challenged quietly, never taking his eyes from the werewolf’s. “Tell me then Remus.” He began slowly. “If you know the truth. If you truly believe it. Why did you never tell anyone I was an animagus when you knew Dark Creatures barely even registered the presence of animals most of the time?”

“I...” Remus began, then faltered. Why? Why hadn’t he? Why had he never said a word to anyone? Dark Creatures. He remembered the conversation, vaguely. It was so many years ago. Third year? Fourth year? He’d been talking about werewolves, but they weren’t the only Dark Creatures. Dementors. Dementors ignored animals even more than werewolves did. He knew that. He knew and he’d never said a word.

“Dog got your tongue?” Sirius bated him, dark amusement lacing his words.

Remus blinked then reared back in disgust, throwing Sirius back to the floor and taking a good few steps away as he was overwhelmed with memory. Sirius used to say that to him all the time. Whenever they’d kissed and he’d get a bit befuddled, Sirius would smile smugly and... Stop it! It was just wrong. Those words from this creature before him. 

Sitting up whilst still cradling his arm, Sirius pressed his advantage.“Well? I’m waiting. Come on Remus. You must have had a reason. Why didn’t you say anything hmm? Why keep them in the dark. Why protect me....” 

“I was protecting James and Peter!” Remus growled furiously cutting Sirius off as he paced away. How dare he!? How dare Sirius presume to assign that kind of motive to him! And yet why had he... 

“They were dead!” Sirius persisted vehemently, struggling to his feet. “I hardly think the Registry would come chasing after their rotting corpses! Think Remus!”

“I had to protect their reputations! Their memories!” Remus found himself justifying. Scrambling for an answer. Not to satisfy Sirius, but himself. Why? Why? If he’d told, if he’d said something Sirius would still be where he belonged, in Azkaban! Why didn’t he say something! Why had he not even thought about it? Why? 

Sirius barked a laugh. “Arse Gravy! That’s loose stool water and you know it! You never told because you knew deep down that something wasn’t right about what you were being told! Because you knew I would never willingly put James, Lily or Harry in danger!”

Pure contradiction between known fact and Sirius’ words had broken Remus from his spiral and he rounded on the dark haired man in renewed anger, tinged with desperation. Inside the hurt was back. That biting, ripping agony that had come the first time he’d set eyes on the destroyed cottage in Godric’s Hollow was back, and it bled into every fibre of his being, into the shaking of his wand hand and into the tremor of his voice. But he couldn’t show Sirius’ that hurt. He wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. The growl that rose from his throat was more wolf than man, as he halted his pacing to aim his wand back onto Sirius. “And yet YOU sold them out. 

“No.”

“Your brother. Your godson.” Remus continued, approaching Sirius one step at a time, tensed and coiled like a spring. Prowling, stalking like the predator he was, wand held before him ready to cast. “They trusted you. We _all_ trusted you to keep them safe and _you_ handed them over to Voldermort like a neatly wrapped birthday gift.” 

“No.” Sirius countered again, although he stood his ground this time and did not step back.

“You betrayed everything and everyone who ever mattered to us.” 

“NO!” Sirius yelled. “I would have died! I would have died to protect them!”

“And yet you’re still standing here.” Remus threw back with a sneer, continuing his advance. “While James and Lily rot in their graves, Peter is half mad, and Harry has a permanent reminder of your betrayal etched into his forehead.”

“I _never_ betrayed them!” Sirius spat. 

“Lies!” Remus spat back his voice climbing from its previous quiet seething accusation. “You betrayed James and Lily to Voldermort, and when Peter tracked you down, you tried to kill him! Only you failed! Peter transformed into a rat and was knocked out by the explosion!”

“If Peter was so innocent explain the finger!”Demanding, challenging, defiant. Sirius stood his ground; matched Remus’ tone and took it one louder. “Explain why they only found a finger!” 

“HE LOST IT WHEN YOU BLEW HIM UP ALONG WITH A STREET FULL OF MUGGLES!!”Remus countered forcefully.

But Sirius wasn’t done. “HE DIDN’T LOSE IT! THE DIRTY COWARD CUT IT OFF, THEN TRANSFORMED INTO A RAT JUST AS HE BLEW UP THE STREET SO THAT EVERYONE WOULD THINK HE WAS DEAD! THAT’S WHY HE NEVER CAME BACK!”

“HE DIDN’T COME BACK BECAUSE HE COULDN’T! HE LOST HIS WAND WHEN HE LOST HIS FINGER!”

“WE DON’T NEED WANDS TO TRANSFORM! HE NEVER CAME BACK BECAUSE THE FILTHY WRETCH WAS LIVING THE HIGH-LIFE WITH THE WEASLEYS! WARM SAFE PLACE TO LIVE, ALL THE FOOD HE COULD EAT. HE HAD IT MADE! PAMPERED PET OF A PUREBLOOD FAMILY!”

It was like he was inside Remus’ head, reading his mind, reading his doubts. Laying them all bare to exposure and light. Every incongruity in Peter’s story, Sirius had an explanation for. No matter what Remus said, he took the world and turned it on its head and inside out and yet by doing so he made it make sense. An awful vile tasting kind of sense. All apart from one key fact that destroyed all Sirius’ reasoning.

“ENOUGH! Enough Lies!” Remus finally cried out in desperation. “YOU were their SECRET KEEPER! NOT PETER! YOU! Dumbledore confirmed it!”

“WE NEVER TOLD DUMBLEDORE! He assumed and we let him! Only James, Lily, Peter and I knew the truth and we wanted it that way!! Use your head Remus! You remember what it was like then! Everything we did, everywhere we went, the Death-Eaters were always one step ahead! We knew we’d been betrayed and we knew I would be obvious choice for Secret Keeper so we let you think...”

Sirius was still talking, but Remus wasn’t really listening. The ill fitting pieces of the puzzle had been replaced and now everything was falling into a place to form the most horrifying picture. The nagging voice had broken its restraints and now screamed and berated him for his blindness, his stubbornness. The part of him that had never wanted to believe the boy he had known, the boy he had loved was capable of such evil wept in silent relief. Shame and horror, regret and fear clamoured for attention but through it all one voice cut. Sirius’ voice; not the words he spoke now, but the ones he’s uttered just moments ago. 

“...Let _me_ think?...” Whatever Sirius had been saying fell to silence as Remus’ hushed repetition seemed to echo around the room; stopping everything into an icy silent moment. Looking up and meeting Sirius’ eyes, truly meeting his eyes, Remus spoke the only thought that really filled his mind. “You, James and Lily all thought _I_ was the spy?”

He didn’t know which one of the three thinking he would turn on them hurt most.

“What was I supposed to think!?” Sirius bit out in exasperation. “All those disappearances! Days, even weeks at a time? Coming back bruised and bloody, and all you’d ever say was that you couldn’t tell me? Then one day I get home and all your stuff is gone! No note. Not a word. You just moved out and left me!”

“I thought you were having an affair! I thought you were leaving me so I got out first!” The words escaped of their own volition; angry and hurt. He’d long ago accepted that Sirius hadn’t had an affair, but he’d known that because he’d believed something much worse. Now everything was jumbled and the memory of those lonely nights and of that one night when he’d finally had enough gnawed at him. He opened his mouth to speak again, but then he saw Sirius’ face.

“What!? I’d never have... where did...?” Sirius had stood firm under accusations of murder, deceit and betrayal, but now stared owlishly at Remus, stumbling over his words in incomprehension.

It was almost comical, but Remus didn’t feel like laughing. He wanted to apologise, to say he knew it wasn’t true now but his own wounds held him back, igniting a defensive waspish retort. “I wasn’t the only one who disappeared a lot!”

“I was working! I was a junior Auror in the middle of a bloody war! I didn’t exactly have set hours!” Sirius threw his arms out in disbelief, shaking his head. “You knew that!” 

He had known. Auror training in the middle of a war seemed to have involved three weeks of classroom study then throwing the trainees in at the deep-end. He’d spent months wondering around the headquarters of the Order of the Pheonix or haunting their apartment chewing his nails to nothing as he waited for Sirius to come home. He’d spent many a night sitting up with a pregnant Lily Potter, trying to ease her worries and frustrations while trying to ignore his own. Then things had changed and he’d started to say almost the very same words to himself that Sirius had just said, over and over as he watched the door, trying not to think about what... and with another almost audible ‘thunk’ another nail was driven into the coffin. Another piece of the puzzle dropped effortlessly into place. Trying not to think about what... “...Peter told me.” 

“Peter Pettigrew. Why am I not surprised.” Sirius scoffed with amusement as dark and bitter as the purest cooking chocolate. “Once again it all comes back to Peter. You know something? I didn’t start thinking of you as possibly being the spy until two things happened. You started to pull away from me, and Peter told me how much time you spent hanging around headquarters, without any real reason. Funny that? James actually hit me when I told him you know. He actually hit me! Said it was my wounded pride talking.” Looking down, Sirius sighed, “I should have listened.”

“He played us against each other.” Remus said mostly to himself. His mind working through everything he knew and he found himself slightly impressed. The kind of planning and forethought that had to gone into everything Peter had done was far beyond that which any of them would have guessed him capable of. Which was why it worked he supposed, and why no-one had worked it out. Who would have suspected poor little dim witted Peter Pettigrew of this? “He couldn’t make me think you were a spy, he knew I’d be able to smell the death on you if you’d joined _him_ , but he knew me too well. He played on my worst fear.”

“And on mine.” Sirius agreed sadly. At the flash of hurt in Remus’ eyes, Sirius explained. “Voldermort offered you something I could never give you. Of course I was scared! He offered you equality! He offered you the chance to take control of the change! He offered you power, and money and employment and purpose! He offered you everything you’d always been denied! Scared? I was terrified! Because I knew if you did go over I wouldn’t blame you! I might have had to kill you but I wouldn’t have blamed you!”

“What kind of an idiot did you take me for?” Remus practically cried out in disbelief. “Even the werewolves that sided with him knew it was all lies! They only joined him to get back at everyone else! Oh now who needs to use their head Sirius?! Werewolves! They joined him in droves! That’s where Dumbledore sent me! To try and stop the tide! Only explaining it was all lies was pointless because they already knew it! Reasonable arguments don’t tend to work very well against those dead set on revenge.”

“I don’t know. I thought I did rather well just now.”

_“Down there Sir! There was shouting. I don’t think it was students.”_

_“Show me.”_

“Shit!” Remus swore gaining himself a raised eyebrow from Sirius. There were voices in the corridor, approaching fast. Of course they would have been heard; they hadn’t exactly been minding their volume. The voices were dangerously close, and although the door was sealed tighter than a standard locking spell, it wouldn’t take all that much for a fully trained wizard to break through. 

_“Go and get the Headmaster.”_

This time the voices were close enough that even Sirius heard. “Was that...”

“Snape.” Remus growled. He was trapped. In a room with Sirius Black, and Severus Snape was about to find them. This would not go down well. 

Turning to Remus, Sirius suddenly looked frantic, an expression that only became more wide eyed and desperate when he realised that Remus had raised his wand once more. “Remus. If I’m caught...”

“You’ll be given the Dementors kiss. I know.” Remus replied blandly, his mind too much of a whirl for him to do much else. 

“Remus.” Sirius entreated. “Please tell me you don’t still believe...”

“I don’t know what to believe right now!” Remus snapped back. The grate. They could still escape through the grate. They? Or He? He found himself looking from the door to the pile of broken furniture and back again, then finally at Sirius, who was growing increasingly agitated. He needed... he needed... He had so many more questions. Why did Sirius attack those girls in the hallway? Why if he was innocent did he laugh when the Muggles died? Who killed the Muggles, was it him? Or was that Peter too? Those and so many more. Questions he would never get answers to if Sirius was recaptured. 

When Severus Snape finally broke through the charm keeping the door sealed and managed to force the broken furniture piled up against the door out of the way, he was rather irritated to realise he’d just wasted ten minutes of his life trying to get into an empty room. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Colloportus Duro: Colloportus is a canonical spell for locking and sealing doors. Duro comes from the latin for strong, thus making this spell a stronger version of Colloportus. A similar extension is used in the third film to create Lumos Maxima: a brighter version of the Lumos Charm. 
> 
> ** Decido Modax: From Latin - Decido: Cut. Mordax: Corrosive. A Nasty spell of my own creation. I noticed that many canonical spells are derived from latin, but seem to have altered spellings or pronunciations. Hence the loss of the R in Mordax.


	8. Harsh Light of Day

There were two kinds of sleepless nights. Ones spent lying in one’s bed, staring at the wall, ceiling, clock or other random place or object, while sleep refused to come. Or ones spent without sleep because there simply wasn’t time for any. 

Albus Dumbledore couldn’t say for certain at that moment which he felt was worse. He’d certainly had his fair share of both; he was also acutely aware that each could result from a myriad of causes. Normally, he thought he would lean towards disliking the former, as there was little more frustrating than lying awake desperate for sleep and being unable to drift off. However, this morning he was somewhat inclined to change his opinion, as although the former was more frustrating, the latter was far harder on the body. 

Especially a body as old as his.

One had to be kind to a body as advanced in years as his. Had to treat it with respect. Aging bones and muscles did not appreciate being overworked by being forced to remain in a state of use, let alone hurrying (he did not run, only in the direst of circumstances would urgency outweigh dignity) all over the castle. Add to the aches of such abuses the sensation of being a half step behind himself due to the aforementioned lack of sleep and an overcrowded brain, and Albus Dumbledore would admit he was not in the best of sort this morning. 

His only comfort was that he was not alone in his suffering. All his senior teachers were looking somewhat worse for wear at the moment. Then again, who wouldn’t after a night spent searching the castle for not only the monster that had been terrorising its inhabitants for months, but also possible intruders. The search, as it always had previously, proved fruitless, and the strain of the last few months was beginning to show.

Never before had he been so thwarted within his own school. It was maddening. It was infuriating. It was a riddle wrapped in an enigma, wrapped in a thousand years of conjecture and bad story telling. It was pulling them all down. He’d just concluded a meeting with Severus and the poor man had looked wiped out. Filius Flitwick was currently sacked out on a conjured couch in the Headmaster’s own office and Dumbledore had spied Pomona Sprout, just managing to plod along a corridor not two minutes ago. 

Feeling the almost overwhelming desire to plod himself, but keeping his pace through pure force of will alone, Dumbledore pushed open the doors to the hospital wing, and he wasn’t sure if he was surprised or not to see Minerva McGonagal looking perhaps a little harried, but no less her usual immaculate self. If he was a petty man he might have resented her for it; she was after all, not so young herself. He was not a petty man however, and so he smiled tiredly, approaching her with steady dignified grace. 

“Good Morning Minerva.”

“Morning it may be, Headmaster, but good is not how I would describe it.” McGonagall huffed, and now he was closer Dumbledore noticed that contrary to his previous supposition, she was indeed quite ruffled. 

Be that as it may, Now was not the time to worry about a few hairs out of place. Minerva rarely became flustered over trivialities and given the severity of the previous night’s events, a weight settled in his stomach. “Has Miss Granger worsened in the night? I was led to believe she suffered only from a broken nose.”

“Oh she did. And Poppy had that fixed hours ago.” The Deputy Headmistress’ tone was far from sympathetic. “If she’d taken ill I could deal with it. No this is far worse. _Now_ , she won’t talk to me.”

“Given the trauma of last night...”

“Trauma my foot.” McGonagall cut the Headmaster off briskly. “She’s not traumatised Albus, she’s refusing! She’ll talk to Poppy. She’ll talk to me if I ask her a question about anything else. But ask her about last night and she gets this look on her face like she’s just had one of your lemon sours and pretends I’m not there! Never in all my years have I encountered such bald faced defiance and from Granger no less!”

“Come now Minerva, being ignored is hardly the worst student behaviour you have seen over the years.” Dumbledore attempted to sooth, even as a frown settled on his face. 

“Maybe so! But at a time like this, to pull such a stunt...” Minerva suddenly shook her head and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, calming herself from her temper. “I shall have to contact her parents again. There is something deeply wrong with that girl.”

“Perhaps.” Dumbledore mused, distracted by his own whirling thoughts. “Or perhaps a different approach is needed.”

“Well you’re more than welcome to try.” With an imperious wave of her arm, McGonagall let the Headmaster know which of the many beds now hidden behind privacy screens was Hermione’s and stepped back to let him pass; her tone as she spoke speaking volumes of how much confidence she had in his likely success. “Lord knows I’ve tried everything I can to get her to open up.”

Giving his Deputy a kindly look and a reassuring squeeze to her upper arm, Dumbledore moved to the indicated bed, giving himself a moment to take in the child in question as he slipped passed the privacy screen. 

Sitting up in the bed, arms folded over her chest and glaring balefully at the sheets covering her lap, Hermione Granger looked the epitome of teenage stubbornness. It was not an unfamiliar look to Dumbledore, he’d encountered it on hundreds of young faces over his many years working at Hogwarts both as a professor and as Headmaster. It was, he was forced to admit, somewhat disconcerting to see it in place of Hermione’s usually eager and wide eyed enthusiasm, bright trusting smile, or somewhat superior, serious and studious frown. Of course it was just as likely that his momentary disorientation could be put down to the fact that in the middle of the pretty freckled face was a rather swollen, pink looking nose. 

“As I understand it Miss Granger, you’ve had something of an adventure these last few hours.” Dumbledore started pleasantly, continuing when Hermione refused to look up and acknowledge him. “And without your usual companions no less.”

Hermione’s eyes flicked up to meet his for a second, and the wariness in them took Dumbledore aback for a moment. Then he sighed. Pieces fell into place and he found himself feeling a surge of sympathy for his young charge. “I’m sure you are aware of how important it is that we know exactly what happened last night Miss Granger. Perhaps you would be kind enough to recount your observations of the events?”

There was a momentary pause in Hermione’s reaction and Dumbledore knew Hermione was debating how to answer, or if she should answer at all. The pause ended when Hermione lifted her head and shoulders proudly. Her voice when it came was strong, but somewhat nasal “No.”

“I see.” Dumbledore responded almost jovially to the accusatory and defensive tone. “Do you have a particular reason for not wishing to share?”

“You won’t believe me.” Hermione replied matter-of-factly. 

“Ah. I see.” Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully. “Might I ask why you feel I would not believe you?”

Hermione frowned then, a hurt look flicking across her features before it was carefully hidden. “Professor McGonagall never believes me. She always accuses me of lying when I tell her anything.” 

“Hmm.” Dumbledore hummed considering. “And you think that I too would accuse you of telling lies, were you to tell me?”

Hermione shrugged; what bolshie courage she’d mustered previously seemed to escape her and she looked away. 

“Unless my memory is failing me in my old age Miss Granger, I don’t believe I’ve ever called you a liar.” Dumbledore observed carefully. “In my experience, when someone lies to me, they usually have a reason to do so, and hold onto some foolish belief that I won’t be able to tell. So given that you’re no fool and I can see no reason for you to lie to me now, I can’t imagine that whatever you need to tell me would be a lie.” 

Hermione frowned at him then, but it wasn’t an angry or defiant frown. Actually it was very close to the frown Minerva often gave him when she was trying to work out whether what he’d just said was either deeply profound or utter gibberish. 

When Hermione’s shoulders finally drooped and her hands came to rest in her lap, her gaze dropping to follow them, Dumbledore stepped closer and perched herself at the edge of her bed. In the moment before she’d broken eye-contact he’d seen the desperation to be believed, to trust and have her faith in her teachers restored. It was not irreversible damage that had been done in the past, but the intensity of that look told him that damage had indeed been done. And if that were the case, then perhaps both he and Minerva needed to re-evaluate the stories that had been told in the past. For now though, he needed answers from the one person in the school who had been witness to an attack by the creature from the Chamber and was in a fit state in the aftermath to describe it. 

“Perhaps you’d like to start at the beginning.”

The story that unfolded was not as he expected. He, along with everyone else, had assumed that Hermione had been attacked in some way; perhaps by the creature, perhaps by the arguing intruders that had been heard further along the corridor. He had not expected Hermione to talk of a saviour, or that said saviour would come in the form not of a person, but in that of a large black dog. The same large black dog she had previously reported seeing in the library, and now admitted to having seen on numerous occasions since. 

Bidding Hermione rest as per Madame Pomfry’s orders, Dumbledore stepped out from behind the privacy screen and as he’d fully expected, found Minerva waiting for him; her expression a peculiar mix of confusion, irritation, exasperation and remorse. 

“Surely you don’t believe she was saved from this monster by The Grim!” McGonagall burst out almost as soon as he was clear of the screen, but it was evident from her tone that she wasn’t as convinced of her own initial scepticism as she once had been. 

“The Grim?” Dumbledore mused idly. “Yes, the animal she described does sound remarkably like that doesn’t it? But in answer to your question, no I do not believe it was The Grim she saw, but rather something far more mundane, and yet at the same time far more incredible.” Glancing over at the screen again, Dumbledore smiled, his blue eyes twinkling for the first time in hours.

“How can you possibly smile.” Minerva huffed, hands coming to rest on her hips. “Granger has told us precisely nothing we did not already know. She didn’t even catch a glimpse of the monster! And now, to make matters worse, we may have a rabid dog lose in the castle as well! First the Chamber, then Black, and now this? How much more Albus? If things continue as they are the Parents are going to start taking their children out of school for more than just the holidays! The school could close!”

“Calm yourself Minerva.” Dumbledore soothed. “Is it not said that it is always darkest before the dawn? And although I admit this dog of Miss Granger’s is an added concern, I do not believe that it poses an immediate threat. After all, it quite possibly saved her life last night.”

“Still...”

“Besides,” Dumbledore cut her off with a smile. “You were wrong when you said Miss Granger told us nothing of use. In fact her account has quite probably solved a mystery that has been troubling me for some time. Your mentioning of The Grim has only reaffirmed my conclusions.”

“Oh?” 

“Hmmm... Indeed” Dumbledore confirmed vaguely, amused when he was levelled with an impatient look. “But it can wait. For now we must deal with the matters at hand, and you should get some sleep.”

“Sleep!” Minerva yelped. “I can’t sleep! Today’s a match day!”

“So it is.” Albus sighed. “Unfortunately, given the circumstances, I think perhaps we ought to cancel. And it would probably be a good idea if students were to be confined to their common-rooms for the time being.”

“You can’t cancel Quiddich!” Minerva burst out before she caught herself and let out a long tired sigh. “I’ll go and inform the teams. I’d better inform Mr Potter and Mr Weasley of Miss Granger’s whereabouts as well. They’ve no doubt noticed her absence by now.”

“Quite frankly, I’m amazed they haven’t burst in here already.”

~HpɸqH~

 

The walls were moving; the straining timbers creaking as the ancient house was buffeted by the wind. The Shrieking Shack it was known as; resting on the edge of the village of Hogsmeade but actually on the grounds of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, it was reputed to be the most haunted house in Great Britain.

If anyone were to ask the inhabitants of Hogsmeade Village, they would say that the house had been the home to spirits so restless and wounded they had howled and wailed into the night since it had been abandoned by its last human inhabitants almost a century ago. What many failed to realise however, was that inhuman sounds coming from the house were only ever heard for a seven year period, just over a decade ago. The stories gave the impression of generations of spooked villagers, woken from dreams by violent spectral unrest. 

Which went a long way to explain why no-one from the village ever tried to enter the old dilapidated house; who would ever willingly chose to enter the domain of such malevolent spirits?

The Answer to that of course was simple. Teenagers. The shack was a place of much speculation and awe in the minds’ of Hogswart’s students, and every year a foolhardy few would test their nerve. True to their sorting these were most often Gryffindors, attempting to justify their place within the house of the brave, but sometimes the odd prideful Ravenclaw would endeavour to prove a point, or a love-struck Hufflepuff would try their luck in an attempt to woo their fair maiden. Very few made it close enough to even peer through the boarded windows before common sense and the limits of bladder control overruled adolescent bravado however.

Had anyone actually ever managed to get close enough to peer inside, not only would they have found it physically impossible to get any further – the only way in or out of the shack was actually through a hidden passage guarded by the fiercely territorial Whomping-Willow on the school grounds - they would have also seen something that spoke less of ghosts and more of some kind of an animal. A beast. A monster. 

Every surface, the floors, furniture, even the walls ceilings and fixtures were covered in a thick layer of accumulated dust and dirt. Portraits hung empty, their occupants long having fled. But even through all the grime there were marks that drew the eye. Broken furniture, edges and spurs seeming to bare the marks of large sharp teeth. Scratches, great gouges torn into doors and walls as if made by large sharp claws. Whatever called the shack home was not a ghost. It was also long gone. The dust had lain undisturbed for years. 

Until recently that was. 

Fresh footprints lay dark on the floor, sheets had been cast aside from the surviving furniture in what would once have been a lavish drawing room. As the golden strands of afternoon sun slanted in through the window boards, Sirius Black paced the length of the room; his movements as agitated as the clouds of dust kicked up by his torn and barely recognisable boots. 

He wasn’t comfortable being still. He hadn’t been still in months. He wasn’t even still in his sleep. In the ancient and forgotten chamber where he’d made his home since coming back to the school - deep within the very walls themselves - he’d shredded no end of stolen blankets in the throes of dreams. 

Nightmares. 

Memories. 

Sleeping in his animagus form had dulled the edges from those visions - a canine mind wasn’t designed to deal with complexities – but they’d still been bad enough to fray the edges of his already threadbare sanity. 

Oh he knew he was on the edge. He knew his mind wasn’t right. It was the strangest thing, to be aware of one’s own madness. To recall being calm and happy, joyful and content and yet feel only the urge to scream and howl and tear and destroy. They said The Dementors took those feelings. Took all the light from the world and stripped it to only agony, but he could still remember. Every. Little. Detail. And felt the agony nonetheless. Because each memory was tainted, smeared, sullied. 

Every smile. Every laugh. Every moment of life and love he’d known shadowed by the knowledge of his failure. Blood spattered photographs. James and Lily, gone. His fault. Harry and Remus left alone. His fault. He never cast one curse, one single spell against them. He never spoke one word out of turn, no careless whisper passed his lips, but it was still his fault and the knowledge burned.

He’d bathed in those flames. Let them consume him. Sometimes in Azkaban, he’d listened to the wails of torment all around him and thrown his head back and joined them, wishing he too could fall completely into oblivious insanity. Then The Dementors would come, dragging those stained memories from their graves and his screams would join the chorus for real. Desperate pleas. For what he didn’t know. Not for release. Not for mercy. He’d seen no point in freedom until he’d learned that Peter was alive.

His feet had taken him to the far end of the room. Nowhere else to go he turned to continue back the way he came and hesitated at the sight of the room. A shaft of sunlight cut it in two; bright gold and dancing with sparkling dust motes. Beyond it, curled up on a dilapidated chaise lounge was Remus. He’d fallen asleep hours ago; his mind and body just giving in abruptly, his words trailing off midsentence as they’d talked. Something about the abruptness of Remus’ collapse, and the haziness which had shrouded the werewolf’s words and actions over the hours of their re-acquaintance felt off to Sirius, but what did he know about Remus anymore? What did he know about pretty much anything?

Unwittingly Sirius’ feet carried him closer, passing through the brilliant light and into the shadows beyond. His eyes were intense as he stared down at the werewolf, watchful, searching. He had to clench his fists so tight his knuckles turned white to stop himself from reaching out; to stop himself from drawing aside the curtain of tawny hair obscuring the features he’d once known so well. Maybe if he could see that face, study its lines and the changes the last eleven years had brought, he could get some answers to the broken questions that rolled intangibly around his head. 

Yet at the same time he didn’t want to know. If he couldn’t see the lines of age, the fresh scars and hollow cheeks he could for a moment imagine another time. A time when his touch was welcome, his gaze met with a blush and crooked half smile or a devilish grin. A simpler time. An innocent time before everything had gone so wrong for all of them. 

It wasn’t hard to picture. Hair covering his face, Remus looked as his teenage self so often had. 

So much so he could picture the ghost of his past self with ease; knelt at Remus’ side carefully tending the other boy’s wounds, making sure he was comfortable in the first light of dawn following a full a moon. Those amber gold eyes would be watching him tiredly, holding a world of gratitude, pain, love and exhaustion in their depths. He could almost hear the sounds of James and Peter hastily clearing away any sign of their presence from the shack. Could hear James admonish him to stop fussing and help them. Could well imagine the snigger that would break free of Remus and the names he himself would call James in return. 

Then the voices changed, Peter’s words and tone went from playful whining urgency to suspicion, doubt, and hesitant accusation. Pain blossomed in his face from James’ fist; his brother in all but blood striking him for accusing their friend, his own ex-lover of being a traitor. He could hear the echoes of his own voice imploring James to see reason and the merit in his plan. 

Then James’ lifeless eyes were staring up at him through skewed broken glasses, his body unnaturally still on the floor. The acrid tang of dark magic hung in the air, settling on his tongue and at the back of his throat making him gag. 

Screams, shouts; his own voice wild, frantic and enraged, thick with pained madness. 

Peter laughing. The painful ringing in his ears as the world exploded. The heat of flames and the smell of smoke... 

With an incoherent cry Sirius threw himself away from Remus and into the first thing he could get his hands on to destroy; kicking out mercilessly at a nearby table, hefting a chair and throwing it across the room, tearing at the already shredded remnants of curtains and smashing through anything else he could find. 

Spinning around to look for something else to rent apart, his rampage was halted with the abruptness of a thunderclap as he found himself nose to nose with the business end of Remus Lupin’s wand. It was so close he had to lean back to even see it properly. His eyes tracked along the slightly battered darkwood shaft, taking in the various knocks and notches and the faint impressions of canine teeth, up past the steady hand, idly noting that Remus apparently no longer chewed his nails, and along the outstretched arm to the scarred face of the man. Amber eyes, not unnatural in humans but rare, were narrowed. His hair was sleep tousled and his mouth set in firm line; rapid breaths were being drawn and exhaled through his nose. 

Despite the rage that burned like liquid fire in his veins, Sirius was frozen in place; his shoulders heaving as he panted, out of breath from his overexertion. Knowledge or instinct Sirius wasn’t sure, but something told him that if he moved, a flash of magic might be the last thing he ever saw. The wolf flickered in Remus’ eyes. The red haze began to clear. 

Seconds ticked by. Neither moved. Then Remus’ face lost its stiffness and it regained its more familiar gentleness. Visibly and audibly relaxing, Remus lowered his wand.

With the imminent threat of having his head blasted from his shoulders removed, Sirius turned away sharply, his limbs feeling decidedly unsteady and his heart thundering. Reaching a sideboard he hadn’t got around to turning into kindling, he braced himself against it, palms flat on the peeling varnish of its top, his head dropping forward so his hair fell about his face like a curtain. 

“Sirius?”

A thousand questions in just his name. What’s wrong? Are you alright? Are you sane? Are you going to try and kill me? Are you calm again yet? Who are you? And so many more. 

“What are we doing here!?” Sirius finally rasped out. “I need to get back to the castle. Peter will be back from St Mungo’s...” 

Peter would be back. Harry was alone in the castle with Peter. Just the mere thought of his name brought back the image of James and Lily’s lifeless bodies. Of flame and heat and that last smug look he’s sent him before the world went mad. 

Pushing off from the dresser, Sirius made for the door, but Remus had stepped into his path. 

“Sirius, remember we agreed we’d wait...”

“I’VE DONE MY WAITING!” Sirius found himself screaming. “Eleven Years of it Remus! In Azkaban!”

“I Know.” Soft words spoken as something infinitely sad, remorseful and pained passed across Remus’ features. Sirius was shaking as Remus reached out, and gripped his shoulder. “But we’ve been through this.”

Sirius opened his mouth to argue, but Remus was right, they had been through this. Ad Nauseam. They’d spent the early hours of the morning, once they’d made it from the castle to the shack, going over it all. Saying so much that should have been said years ago. Sharing what they’d learned in the years between then and now. Reliving that night again and again. How many times had he begged Remus to help him kill Peter, each time to be refused? He’d honestly lost count. But Remus was right. Then again, he usually was, wasn’t he? 

Sirius didn’t much care what happened to himself. He’d found the energy and presence of mind to break out of Azkaban with one objective in mind. Kill Peter. The moment the guards had come to taunt him about his victim who’d thwarted him – what a joke – he’d been set on one thing; finding and killing Peter. Making him pay for everything he’d done. What happened after that he hadn’t thought about, and hadn’t cared about. 

The longer he’d been away from Azkaban however, the more time he’d spent aware of Remus on his tail, and watching Harry go about his life, the less disconnected he’d felt. He wanted Harry to know the truth. If nothing else, he wanted Harry to know what really happened. He thought about the baby he’d bounced on his knee and the almost toddler he’d played with on the Potter’s living room floor, and he wanted that child, now so grown, to know. He wanted Harry to know his Pa’foo hadn’t ever meant for any of those terrible things to have happened. 

Remus was right. If he killed Peter, the truth would die with him. Remus wanted them to go to Dumbledore. The Headmaster at least would hear him out before calling in the Aurors. Or that’s what they hoped. What would happen afterwards he didn’t know, but if nothing else, Sirius knew he wanted the chance to speak to Harry. 

“Sirius?”

This time the question was a simple one. Are you still in there?

He didn’t remember crossing the room or sitting down, but as he looked to Remus, he found that he was indeed sitting down on the other side of the room to the door. The room itself was full of shadows, and the tip of Remus’ wand glowed providing their only light. The sun had set. Night had finally come. 

“Time to go.”

Pushing himself to his feet, he drew a deep breath and felt for that reassuring place inside himself where there was only magic and something deeply familiar, warm and distinctly canine. When he opened his eyes again the world was changed. 

The first few seconds after assuming his animagus form were always a little disorientating as his brain adjusted to seeing the world through a dog’s eyes. Actually it was more through a dog’s nose. The eyes only saw shades of grey, but the nose... the nose took in the world in full colour and surround sound. Human’s just didn’t have words for the complexities of scent. 

When he changed back the only way he’d ever been able to describe the incredible way in which he saw the world as a canine, was to say it was like seeing clouds of colour that were vibrant with sound and texture as he passed through them. Common, underlying scents like the thick coating of dust and dirt soon faded passed into inconsequence, leaving the room in sepia tones, vaguely hued with other colours. His own scent also soon vanished from his vision, leaving the most obvious scent as a snaking cloudy trail criss-crossing the room. Deep purple smoke with hints of forest green, gold with something dark and flickery and tang of rich tinkling magic; Remus. Where he’d lain on the chaise lounge, so still for so long, it was almost like looking back in time; the smoke’s shape and form an almost perfect replica of the man himself. Where he’d been moving around, it was more of a foggy trail leaving the room and eventually ending with the werewolf who was lowering himself down the trapdoor in the hallway floor; a greyscale figure in a wispy cloud. 

Once he’d followed into the tunnel, he didn’t really need the light from Remus’ wand to see. He needed only to follow Remus’ scent and the silvery stream of clean fresh air. Even walls exuded their own scent of damp, mould and earth the colour of rotting bracken. As they neared the end of the tunnel, Remus darkened his wand, and even though he hadn’t needed it, Sirius felt a sense of relief when he passed through the Whomping Willow and out into the bright moonlight. 

Last night had been cloudy, tonight was clear. Just two nights since it was full, the moon hung fat and heavy in the sky. The air was alive with the first scents of the incoming spring. Grass, mud, the first blossoms and snow drops. The ground was damp beneath his paws. It called to instincts deep within the form.. But there was no time for play tonight. No time to run free. Human focus overcame canine will, and without even a backwards glance, Sirius paced easily at Remus’ side; the long legs of his massive form easily able to keep up with Remus’ forceful stride. 

Of course it wasn’t all steady going. They had to be careful as they picked their way through the shadows up the slope towards the castle. It might have been dark, but it was still early. Only first and second years’ curfew had passed and the last thing they needed was to be seen now. Lord knew he’d been seen enough the last few weeks. That Granger girl, Harry’s friend, was an observant one he’d give her that. Once she’d started looking for him, he hadn’t been able to get close to Harry without her spotting him. 

It was pure chance he’d been behind the wall of the fourth floor corridor last night though. Once Harry had vanished into the Gryffindor common-room, he’d just been wandering about, trying to keep moving to avoid Remus. As much as the fact that the girl kept seeing him had begun to rankle however, when he’d caught the scent of the Basilisk, and realised the girls were about to walk right into it, he hadn’t been about to just let it happen. He hadn’t been quick enough to save the older one, but he was glad he’d been able to keep Harry’s friend safe. Well safe-ish. His sternum was actually bruised from where she’d broken her nose against it. That definitely hadn’t been in the plan. Or it wouldn’t have been in the plan if he’d had a plan. 

They did have a plan tonight though. Get into the castle, make their way to Dumbeldore’s office. Unless the password had been changed since the day before yesterday when he’d overheard McGonagall use it, they would use that to gain entry, and then go up and talk to the Headmaster. Simple. Easy to remember. 

So long as nothing went wrong, and they didn’t run into any problems. Or students. Or staff, or...

“Aurors!” Remus suddenly hissed, ducking back and behind a tree.

Aurors? No he wasn’t expecting to see any Aurors. What the hell was Moony talking about?

“Sirius!”

Oh! 

Finally becoming aware of the figures crossing the grounds that had caught Remus’ attention, Sirius quickly scrambled into the undergrowth near where Remus had hidden himself. Sure enough, the four dark clad men with their wands drawn did have the distinctive look of Aurors about them. There was just something in their bearing, in the way they held themselves, the way they held their wands. In the way they walked as a unit around the man, the very large man, they were clearly escorting. 

“They’ve arrested Hagrid.” Remus whispered and Sirius resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Of course it was Hagrid. Who else could it be? It wasn’t like there were hundreds of half giants working at the school to pick from. 

There were other people following up the slope too. Three others. Sirius sniffed, but they were too far away. He could hear them talking but again, they were too far away. 

“Dumbledore.” Remus supplied, as if reading his thoughts. “He doesn’t sound happy.”

Well that wasn’t surprising either. Hagrid had been a long trusted friend of the Headmaster, and one of the nicest people Sirius had ever met. Rubius Hagrid didn’t have a mean, evil or malicious bone in his oversized body. Which begged the question; Why would Aurors be arresting Hagrid of all people? And why wasn’t Dumbledore stopping them?

“I think... that’s Cornelius Fudge.” Remus continued his disjointed commentary in surprise. “The Minister for Magic.”

This time Sirius did turn and glare at the werewolf. Did he think he was stupid? He knew who the Minister for Magic was. And he wasn’t about to forget one of the men who’d been responsible for putting him in Azkaban in a hurry. So Dumbledore and the Minister for Magic, four Aurors, Hagrid - who was apparently on route to Azkaban himself - and one other. One other who, now the group was closer, Sirius could make as having long silver blonde hair and was carrying a silver-topped walking cane; clearly for effect rather than need.

Lucius Malfoy 

Sirius growled. Deep low and long. 

“Shhh!” Remus admonished, his hand coming around and gripping Sirius’ muzzle forcing his mouth closed and his head down. “They’ll hear you!”

 _‘I don’t care!’_ Sirius broadcast with every inch of his body language. Lucius Malfoy. Slimey, Slytherin Death-Eater. Lying, cheating, scheming murdering... he didn’t have words. That Lucius Malfoy had been able to escape Azkaban was a travesty of monumental proportions. As an Auror, as a member of the Order of the Pheonix, Sirius had known that Malfoy was a Death-Eater for years. Proving it had been the issue, but he’d damn well known. They’d all known. 

Imperious curse; his large shaggy haired rear end. 

He needed to get closer. Needed to find out what was going on. Nothing involving Lucius Malfoy could be good, and damn it all he owed Hagrid. Everyone who’d been in the Order owed Hagrid at least one favour. 

“Sirius!” Remus hissed after him, but he didn’t stop. Instead he slipped silently out of the bushes and crept along the tree-line, keeping to the shadows and leas, slinking ever closer to the large group making its way up towards the castle. 

Four feet were better for agility and stealth than two aparently, and behind him he could hear Remus slip and scrabbled on the steep incline. He could only hope none of the group they were looking to intercept heard him. 

When the four Aurors and Hagrid broke away from the other three, and moved to take the path towards Hogsmeade he paused in momentary indecision but what little reason he was capable of told him that attempting to break the half giant lose would be pointless and stupid. Better to follow the Minister, Headmaster and dirty rotten snake; that way he’d find out what was going on. 

Unfortunately, the closer to the school he got, the harder it became to move easily and stay hidden. By the time he was close enough to really see and hear what was going on, the three had reached the main courtyard. The main doors were wide open, spilling torchlight into the night. Somehow the unfolding drama hadn’t managed to attract a crowd of students as of yet. That was unusual in and of itself. Where was everybody?

Two new figures suddenly emerged from the doorway. One Slender, not tall nor short, pointed hat, precise gate, imperiously lifted nose. McGonagall. The other taller, still slender in a masculine way. Shoulder length dark hair, distinctive hawk-like nose and an aura of powerful malevolence. Snape. 

As the two parties moved to meet, Sirius crept along the edge of the colonnade, sinking deep into the shadows.

“Ah Minerva, your timing, is as always, impeccable.” Dumbledore greeted them in his usual amiable way. “Good evening Severus.”

“Headmaster.” Snape drawled back. In the shadows Sirius had to resist the urge to snarl. Dumbledore’s tolerance of Snape was beyond infuriating.

“Albus, what’s in the name of Merlin is going on?” McGonagall jumped straight to the point, by-passing pleasantries. “You can’t just let them arrest Rubeus!”

Now Dumbledore signed. “The matter is out of my hands Minerva. The Minister is merely doing what he feels is best for the school. Given Hagrid’s record...”

“Poppycock!” McGonagall interrupted. “He’s no more responsible for opening the Chamber than I am!”

“Given the current climate,” Snape spoke up, “It might be wiser not to make such bold statements. Some might take them to be a confession.”

“Severus.” Dumbledore warned firmly, as both McGonagall and Fudge stared at him open mouthed. The former with shock, the latter with affront. Grudgingly Sirius had to give the slimey git credit for that bit of precision snark. 

Recovering herself first, McGonagall turned her attention to the one member of the group who hadn’t spoken, yet had been watching with something like a smirk on his face. “And to what do we owe the pleasure of your visit Mr Malfoy?”

“I’ve come on behalf of the governors.” Malfoy supplied with oily smoothness. “Congratulations Professor, on your promotion.”

“My Promotion?” McGonagall parroted, looking between Malfoy and Dumbledore. 

“It would appear, that the governors feel I have not executed my duties as Headmaster to their satisfaction during this current crisis. And have therefore ordered me to step down. For the time being at least.” Dumbledore explained, his voice clear, but tinged with sadness. 

Hogwarts without Dumbledore? Hogwarts without Dumbledore while there was a Basilisk lose in the castle? Merlin’s balls, the Muggleborns would be sitting ducks. What the hell were the governors thinking?

Shaking off his shock, Sirius refocused on the conversation and on the Headmaster in particular. There had to be some kind of mistake.

But apparently not, as was made clear as Dumbledore continued to speak. “As my Deputy, you will of course take on the role of acting Headmistress until such time as the governors decide whether or not a new permanent Head needs appointing. Unless you have any objections, I believe Severus would be wise choice to take over your duties as Deputy in the interim.”

“Of Course.” McGonagall replied dazedly. 

“Now really Albus, I really think this is most untoward.” Fudge tutted, shaking his head and frowning deeply at Malfoy. 

“The paperwork is all in order.” Dumbledore returned tiredly, ignoring the triumphant look on Malfoy’s face. “And now, if there are no other matters that require my immediate attention, and given that I am shortly to become homeless, I believe I have some packing to do.”

“Don’t even think about it!” McGonagall barked as the Headmaster moved past her, and as she followed him into the school, the others trailing behind, Sirius could just make out her rather vehement objections to everything from taking his office, to Hagrid’s arrest, to the idea of the Literacy professor, someone called Bateshead, taking over as head of Gryffindor House.

When her objections were finally cut off from hearing by the closing of the great doors, Sirius sat for a moment in thought, his world feeling alarmingly off kilter where it had, less than an hour previously, finally started to feel more stable. 

He needed to find Remus. It looked like they were going to need a new plan. 


	9. Questions and Answers

“Anything?”

Looking back over his shoulder, having given up on his own search, Remus watched as a shaggy canine behind shuffled backwards out from under the couch with undignified grace. If things weren’t as they were, the sight would have been amusing. Instead the humour passed the werewolf by and he found himself resisting the urge to huff with impatience. No sooner was the enormous black dog free of the tatty sofa however, his shape blurred, stretched and Sirius Black stood tall in its place, hand rubbing the back of his neck as he shook his head in the negative. 

“Nothing.”

Letting out a long breath, Remus ran his hand over his face and moved to the nearest seat, dropping into it carelessly. “This doesn’t make sense.”

In reply Sirius only made a ‘what do you want me to say?’ expression and wandered idly across the room, peering into various pots and jars on the large heavily stocked dresser that rested against one wall of the main room of Hagrid’s home. Occasionally Sirius would give the contents of one the jars a sniff, or use a finger to sample whatever was inside, then he’d move on to the next one. 

“Are you sure they didn’t say anything else?” Remus prodded, watching Sirius carefully. He was calm, for now. But if his experience over the last twenty-four hours had taught Remus nothing else it was that Sirius Black’s moods were even more mercurial than they’d been during their school days. One minute he would be quiet and morose like a sulky teenager, the next agitated and watchful like a hunted animal. He could go from talking at a hundred miles an hour, eyes lit with something not quite sane, grinning and laughing like he’d overdosed on pepper-up potion, to explosive thundering destructive rage in the blink of an eye. And then there were moments like this one, when Sirius seemed so perfectly normal, well normal for Sirius at any rate, almost as if the last eleven and half years hadn’t happened at all.

And maybe if Sirius had a bath, a change of clothes and didn’t look, smell and occasionally shudder like a man who’d just spent the last decade and a bit in prison being psychologically tortured by the very worst Dark Creatures ever created, Remus might have been fooled. But he wasn’t fooled, and he wasn’t about to turn his back on Sirius Black if he could help it, at least not if he couldn’t keep track of the man with his other senses as well. 

So he kept watching as Sirius roamed the edges of the room, poking, prodding, looking under things, and generally giving the small, cluttered hovel a thorough if careful going over. Remus had all but given up on getting an answer to his question when Sirius finally spoke again. 

“Harry’s been here.”

“They said that?” Remus asked in surprise. 

“No.” Sirius shook his head, not looking back at the seated werewolf. “I smelt him, over by the hearth. Faint though, and strange, like he was only there, nowhere else in the room. Him and his redhead friend.”

Remus could well remember Sirius, James and Peter all trying to explain to him the ways their animagus selves saw the world, and could admit to feeling the pang of bitter irony that he, a werewolf, had never and would never know the incredible experience of seeing the world through a canine nose. 

His senses were heightened of course. He could smell people, though he struggled to find words to describe the uniqueness of individual scents. If he was stood close enough to someone he could smell emotions, although arousal and fear were unfortunately the easiest to identify and they tended to send the wolf slightly batty in the back of his mind. He could smell what someone had for dinner on their breath, and the age of a person. He could smell death, blood and strong magic. He’d been able to tell that Sirius had been in the castle as his was the only scent other than his own in many of the tunnels he’d wandered through. But here in Hagrid’s home all he could actually smell was Hagrid, the pheasants and rabbits hung near the window, and dog. 

He couldn’t even smell Dumbledore, Fudge and Malfoy, although Sirius had followed their trails right into the hut. 

“It’s probably old.” Sirius suddenly sighed. “There’s nothing here. Whatever they took Hagrid for, it’s not here. Stupid bastard.”

“Sirius.” Remus warned quietly. 

“Well he is!” Sirius snapped, turning sharply to face Remus. “He didn’t even put up a fight! No sign of a struggle, no magic residue. Nothing. He didn’t even try to stop them taking him!”

“Would you honestly expect him to?” Remus questioned calmly. Agitated Sirius was back. “This IS Hagrid we’re talking about.”

“He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what it’s like there. What that place does. What you see. What you hear. He doesn’t know! He went willingly! He didn’t fight! He’ll... they’ll...”

Remus saw it coming this time. Saw the moment Sirius went somewhere else. It was startling. Frightening. And unfathomably sad. And even sadder still because he knew in that instant what he had to do. He was on his feet before he knew he’d moved; had drawn his wand before the decision had registered. A sound, something feral, something wounded and furious began to break from Sirius’ lips as he clutched his head in his hands, fingers clawing at his scalp. “Dissolventur!”

The sound became a shocked squawk as the spell connected and Sirius crumpled into an ungainly pile on the floor, all his muscles having gone limp. Remus hadn’t wanted to stun him, firstly because it would have knocked him off his feet likely causing damage to Hagrid’s home, and secondly because he wasn’t sure Sirius wouldn’t simply wake up as enraged as he was when he was knocked out, if not more so. This way at least, Sirius couldn’t hurt himself, anyone else or cause any damage, but was still awake. It wasn’t a long lasting hex, and Remus remained ready to cast it again if needed, but it seemed the shock of it had done the trick. 

From his clearly uncomfortable heap on the floor, Sirius slowly managed to raise his head and blinked somewhat owlishly up at Remus; his face crumpling into what could have been a scowl if his facial muscles weren’t still the consistency of wet spaghetti. 

Keeping his wand trained on the fallen man, Remus raised an eyebrow in return, but the words he was about to speak were cut off by a sound that was deeply out of place on the grounds of Hogwarts. Rushing to the window, Remus peered out before quickly ducking down out of sight. 

Sprawled in the middle of floor, Sirius had regained enough control of his limbs to roll onto his stomach and cast Remus an urgent look. “What is it?”

“A car.” Remus replied in hushed, somewhat bemused tones. “What is a Muggle car doing at Hogwarts?”

“Is it bluish and really banged up?” Sirius hissed back, levering himself up onto his elbows. When Remus nodded, Sirius chuffed an amused sound and dropped back to the floor. “It lives in the forest. Nasty bugger. Hagrid’s probably been feeding it.”

“Lives? Feeding it?”Remus replied incredulously. “It’s alive?”

“Apparently. Merlin knows what it eats.” Sirius groaned as he tried move again. “Bloody hell, what did you hit me with?”

“Limp-limbs hex.” Remus shot back distractedly. “How do you know it’s alive?”

“Because the effing thing chased me around the forest that’s why. Gives new meaning to road kill.” Sirius retorted sharply before letting out another moan. “I’m really getting tired of you cursing me.”

Remus bit down on replying that he was getting really tired of Sirius’ mood swings, and was saved from any reply at all when the door suddenly burst open. Too late he’d heard the sound an approach over the noise of the car. Time went plastic as his eyes met Sirius’ haunted silver-grey’s in sudden horror. The door swung wide, a dark shape moved into the room. Then the door bounced against its hinges and slammed itself shut leaving the two Marauders to stare at the dribbling black bloodhound that had skidded to a halt near Sirius’ head and was now looking down at the prone man in equal bewilderment. 

First to break out of their stupor, the dog sniffed at Sirius. Sirius blurred, and in his place the huge shape of his animagus form growled. The blood hound backed up a step, tailed tucked between its legs and head lowered as it whined. 

Remus could only watch as Sirius struggled to his feet, his growls never ceasing. Remus would never claim to be able to speak to dogs, because that would imply the ability to hold a conversation with any random mutt he crossed paths with, but what he could do was _understand_ them. The language of canines wasn’t like that of humans. It wasn’t a language designed for deep philosophical debate; there were after all only between fifty and two hundred sounds that could be considered words. But that didn’t matter. So much more could be communicated in other ways; through body language, touch, scent and intonation. 

In Sirius’ current state though, Remus wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing was such a good idea. 

_‘My den! Me Alpha.’_

_‘Bigger Alpha Den. Bigger Alpha gone?’_

That seemed to stop Sirius, and he cocked his head curiously at the bloodhound who seemed to be watching him imploringly. _‘Bigger Alpha Pack?’_

 _‘Me Bigger Alpha Pack.’_ The bloodhound huffed forlornly, his whole body flat to the floor and Remus could hear how much the great beast missed Hagrid already. 

_‘Bigger Alpha come back. Me Alpha wait Bigger come back.’_

_‘Bigger come back?’_ The bloodhound whined hopefully, and Sirius nuzzled him reassuringly. 

_‘Bigger come back. Me Alpha protect._ ’

Remus shook his head and closed his eyes, leaning back against the wall behind him. The sound of the car intensified for a moment, then moved away, and Remus could only assume that it had driven itself back into the forest. He could still hear the whines, huffs, small barks and growls of the canine conversation going on inside the hut. It lost much of its meaning without being able to the see them and he let it fade into the background of his consciousness as he tried to process everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours. 

He wasn’t as hazy as he’d been last night and earlier that morning, although only the clarity of thought he felt now let him know that he hadn’t been as clear headed as he’d thought yesterday. He could still remember everything that had been said well enough, both in the classroom and later once they’d reached the shrieking shack, and now he turned it all over in his mind. 

Sirius’ revelations and explanations still made the same sickening kind of sense as they had when he’d first heard them. If anything they made more sense to him now. On the other hand however, it was difficult to take it all in. He’d spent so long believing in Sirius’ guilt it was hard to let that go. 

So really it boiled down to a choice. Who did he believe? Peter or Sirius.

And if it was just himself he had to worry about, making that kind of decision wouldn’t be so hard. It wasn’t just about him though was it? Even as he turned Sirius’ tale over in his mind, he was aware just how much might be riding on what he chose to believe. One man’s freedom, life, reputation and future. A young boy’s safety. Maybe the lives of countless others. 

Two men. Two men who’d lost the last decade of their lives. Two men he’d known since he was eleven years old, and twelve years ago he would never thought to doubt. Not in this way. Two stories. One the truth. One a lie. One man a traitor. One man a loyal friend. One man responsible for the deaths of at least thirteen people. One man an innocent victim of the other man’s treachery. 

Part of him had hoped not to have to be the one to make this decision. Going to Dumbledore would have taken the burden from his shoulders, and put it squarely onto far more experienced ones. Granted Dumbledore hadn’t vanished from the face of the earth. He might not be Headmaster of Hogwarts, at least for the time being – neither he nor Sirius had been able to work out from what Sirius had overheard whether Dumbledore’s suspension was permanent – but Albus Dumbledore had never been a one trick pony. It was for his role as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot that they needed him anyway. In that role he was not only used to making these kinds of decisions, but had the power and authority to do something about it.

Until they could work out a way to get to Dumbledore without Sirius getting recaptured and returned to Azkaban however, the decision remained for Remus to make. 

Looking across the small main room of Hagrid’s hut, over to where Sirius had pretty much collapsed in front of the hearth once Hagrid’s dog had slunk off to fall asleep in an armchair, Remus realised he’d already made his choice. He’d made his choice the moment he’d taken Sirius with him when he’d escaped the classroom the previous evening. If he hadn’t believed even a fraction of what Sirius had told him, he would have stunned the escapee and left him for Snape to find.

He hadn’t done that. He’d helped Sirius. He believed Sirius. 

He just hoped he wasn’t being a fool.

~HpɸqH~

 

 _Strictly speaking,_ students weren’t supposed to remain in the common room for long after curfew.

 _Strictly speaking,_ the prefects were supposed to ensure that all students got to bed at a reasonable time. Of course in reality, it didn’t quite work that way. There was only so much they could do. 

Of course things had been made just that little bit harder for the prefects in the last few days what with the new curfew rules and the fact that all students were restricted to their common rooms except for meal times and lessons. Meal times had been made shorter to reduce dawdling, and lessons extended by ten minutes each to allow for teachers to escort students between classes. Each house had been given a half hour library slot each day where Madam Pince would collect students from their common rooms and take them to and from the library personally. Quiddich was officially cancelled until further notice. As were Hogsmeade weekends (again), choir practices, chess club meetings, instrumental lessons and field trips. 

The idea was to reduce the chances of another attack. The end result so far had been a lot of ticked of students crammed into their common rooms, bored out of their minds and suffering from acute cabin fever. Even Hermione, who had only just been released from the Hospital wing, was beginning to feel chaffed by the restriction. 

Especially when she knew of at least two fellow Gryffindors who were blatantly flouting the rules. She hadn’t seen hide nor hair of either of them since they’d briefly stopped in to visit her that morning. She’d been in the common room since she’d been released, and they certainly hadn’t been through. Which could mean only one of two things. One; they’d retreated to their dorm room much earlier in the day and had somehow managed to not be seen by either of their dorm-mates Neville and Seamus. Or Two; they’d snuck out under Harry’s invisibility cloak.

Which was why she’d elected to stay up. The prefects tended to shoo students who were just lounging around up to bed when it began to get late, but they left those actually studying alone as a general rule. She was the only one left in the common room now, even the prefects had gone to bed - with a stern admonishment to make sure she went to bed _at some point._ They didn’t need to know that she’d finished all of her homework hours ago and that she’d moved onto some extra-curricular reading while she waited.

A large black dog stared up at her from the pages of her open book; red eyes blazing, hackles raised and teeth bared. The various myths and legends surrounding the Grim were detailed in small swirling print on the page. There wasn’t a great deal to go on, especially as Dumbledore had actually said he didn’t think what she’d seen was The Grim. What had he said to Professor McGonagall? _‘Something more mundane yet far more incredible’._ The statement itself was a contradiction, and it wasn’t like she could ask him what he meant; she doubted she was supposed to have overheard the conversation between Headmaster and Deputy Headmistress in the first place.

With a frustrated sigh, Hermione turned the page and continued reading although she was rapidly losing hope that she would find the answers she wanted about her mysterious saviour. Because that’s what whatever he, she or it was. Her saviour. The memories were a bit vague, but she knew that without the dog’s intervention she would have been petrified or _worse_. 

Lifting one side of the book off the table, she glanced down guiltily at the sheet of parchment she’d kept hidden under the book. She’d told Dumbledore everything she’d seen and heard, but she hadn’t told him about this. She couldn’t even say why she’d withheld what she’d discovered in the library, she just had. 

But it wasn’t like Professor Dumbledore wouldn’t work it out for himself if he hadn’t already. He was _Dumbledore_. He knew _everything_. And of course there was the fact that knowing what the monster was didn’t tell them anything about where the chamber was, who was opening it or how to stop them. 

Dropping the corner of the book, she was about to check her watch when she heard the familiar mumbled voice of the Fat Lady, and then the sound of the portrait opening and closing. That no-one actually came through the portrait hole would have confused anyone else. 

She wasn’t anyone else. 

Closing her book, she waited. 

“Hermione!”

“Where have you been?!” Hermione snapped as the two figures emerged from under the cloak, her face set in a firm scowl. “Professor McGonagall said no one was allowed out of the dorms without an escort. If you’d been caught you’d have been in detention until at least Easter.”

“Well we weren’t caught were we?” Ron huffed, dropping down into one of the chairs next to Hermione’s table. “We were sent on a completely useless wild goose chase through the Forbidden Forest and almost eaten alive by thousands of bloody great spiders, _but we weren’t caught.”_

“Acromantulas.” Hermione corrected primly, and at the confused looks from Harry and Ron she rolled her eyes. “Don’t you two ever pay attention? If by giant spiders you mean larger than ones you’d find in the bath, then they’re called Acromantulas. Why were you in the Forbidden Forest anyway?”

“Hagrid.” Harry replied, like it explained everything.

“ _Follow the spiders!_ ” Ron groused. “Follow the bloody spiders! I’m gonna kill him. I swear I’m gonna kill him.”

“Ron,” Harry sighed wearily, sounding very much like someone who had had to listen to the same complaint for some time. “Hagrid didn't know that Aragog couldn't stop his children from attacking us.”

“Didn't know?” Ron blurted out; ducking his head as both Harry and Hermione frantically shushed him. When he continued he'd lowered his voice to a hush. “ _Didn't know?_ How could he not know? He sent us into the Forbidden Forest in the middle of the night following the bloody spiders! What did he think they were going to do? Welcome us with tea and cake?”

“Well what did you think would happen Ron? You agreed to come along.” Harry groaned exasperatedly, and Hermione noticed he looked worn out, and increasingly fed up with Ron's belly aching. 

“So why did he send you into the forest?” Hermione asked curiously. 

“Because he's mental.” Ron started up again, but cut off sharply when Hermione kicked him under the table. “Ow! What did you do that for?”

“Because you're being a bore.” Hermione justified. “Hagrid wouldn't have sent you into the forest without a good reason.”

“I think he thought he had a good reason.” Harry agreed tiredly. “And we now know Hagrid wasn't the one to open the Chamber.”

“Well I could have told you that.” Hermione cut in smugly. 

“Oh right, because you never thought Hagrid did it.” Ron threw back, remembering as Hermione was, the conversation they'd had after Harry had told them about the vision he'd had when reading Tom Riddle’s diary. Tom Riddle had obviously believed Hagrid had opened the chamber, but clearly he'd been mistaken. 

“Actually Ronald. _I_ didn't.” Hermione glared, before turning her nose up and directing a far more pleasant expression in Harry's direction. “I _know_ Hagrid didn't do it because _I worked out_ what the monster actually is.” Fishing the piece of parchment out from under her book, she passed it over to Harry. “It's a Basilisk.”

“A basa-what?” Ron asked, shuffling his chair closer to read over Harry's shoulder. 

“A Basilisk.” Hermione repeated tetchily. 

“Look Ron.” Harry intervened before another sniping match could begin. Sometimes he wondered if Hermione and Ron were actually capable of holding a civil conversation at all. “ _Spiders flee before it_... that’s what Aragog said wasn't it? That the monster was the only creature they really feared?”

“Yeah... blimey Harry, this isn't a monster, it’s a nightmare!” Ron exclaimed as he continued to read. 

“Hang on.” Harry frowned. “This says that one look in the Basilisk’s eye is fatal. But no-one’s died. They've just been petrified.” 

“Well maybe it needs glasses.” Ron offered glibly.

“Funny.” Hermione dead panned in return, looking to share her lack of amusement with Harry. 

But Harry wasn’t paying attention, he was frowning at the parchment in front of him. “Ron might be on to something.”

“What? I was only joking mate.”

“No, listen. What if it couldn't see the people it attacked clearly?” Harry thought out loud. 

Hermione nodded, catching on. “Or _they_ couldn't see _it_ clearly.”

“Precisely” Harry continued, getting into the idea. “Colin saw the monster through his camera.”

“Justin saw it through Nearly Headless Nick.” Hermione supplied. “And Penelope and I were using a mirror to look around corners. She must have seen it in that!”

“Hey. There's all those mirror panels in the walls where they found, oh what's her name, the Hufflepuff who got done a few weeks ago.” Ron joined in. 

“Heather Collins.” Hermione supplied, scowling at Ron's insensitivity. 

Ron just rolled his eyes. “Yeah her. So she probably saw it in them. But what about Filch's cat, Mrs Norris? Somehow I don't think she was walking around with a mirror or a camera.”

“Water.” Harry murmured. “There was water on the floor that night. If she was looking down...”

“Of course.” Hermione agreed. “She’d have seen its reflection.”

“But that means it’s all been an accident.” Harry concluded, his face crumpling under the realisation. “The only reason no one is dead is pure chance, and with Dumbledore gone... Hagrid was right, the Muggleborns don't stand a chance.”

“What do you mean Dumbledore's gone? Gone where!?”


	10. They Called Him Padfoot

The departure of Dumbledore and the arrest of Hagrid seemed to do what the escape of Sirius Black, the opening of the Chamber of Secrets and the petrification of five students could not. A pall had descended over Hogwarts; an ominous invisible dark cloud that hung heavy in the air. Students moved in quiet watchful packs, their laughter and usual rambunctiousness dimmed to barely a flicker of youthful exuberance. Owls flocked back and forth between disquieted students and equally concerned parents. The Daily Prophet published a statement from the Minister of Magic who hoped to calm fears by stating that the Ministry had the problems at Hogwarts in hand. That the Minister felt the need to say anything at all was more worrying than the information trickling out of the school itself. 

Whispers whipped around the Ministry. They floated along Diagon Ally. They lingered like echoes in the backs of pubs and village halls across the length of Wizarding Britain and further afield. 

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, after almost a millennium of educating the best, the elite, the brightest, the most gifted and the richest wizards in Britain, was a mere hair’s breadth from closing its doors forever. 

High up in her office – she had told Dumbledore she had no intention of taking his office and she’d meant it – Acting Headmistress Minerva McGonagall stared at the ever increasing stack of letters from parents on her desk and felt a choking sensation settle in her chest and throat. Over the many years she’d been teaching, she’d occasionally entertained the thought of becoming Headmistress, although she hadn’t considered it would be so soon. She’d certainly never imagined she may well be the last. 

In his own office, Acting Deputy Headmaster Severus Snape schooled his patience as he continued to explain the intricacies of the role of Head of House to Gryffindor’s newest guardian. He certainly had his reservations about Minerva’s choice; Charity Burbage was rather young and had only been teaching at the school for three years, but more worryingly, she was unfailingly _nice_. So nice in fact that if he had not been witness to her sorting when he’d been in third year, he’d have considered her more a Hufflepuff than a Gryffindor. Then again, one had to possess plenty of that vaunted Gryffindor courage to attempt to teach Muggle Studies with any seriousness or accuracy to the likes of Draco Malfoy. 

Time, of course, would tell as to how she managed the role. And he certainly didn’t envy her the job of keeping the likes of Potter, or any of the Weasley brood, in line. Glancing up from where he’d been explaining the house points monitoring ledger, he managed a strained upturning of the lips in response to her eager, open and friendly smile. There was no point scowling at her. She never paid a blind bit of notice. 

He could only hope she wouldn’t be so forgiving with her new charges. 

Her new charges who at that very moment in time were being far better behaved than anyone would have thought them capable of. Even the Fat Lady, who had imperiously stood guard at the entrance to Gryffindor Tower for hundreds of years and had known Gryffindors for generations found herself glancing worriedly over her shoulder even though she couldn’t actually see anything beyond her own background. It was too quiet. Her little warriors were subdued, listless; their vibrant courageous light dimmed.

In their dorm rooms, even the Gryffindors who were still awake remained quiet, thoughtful. Behind the closed curtains of her bed, Hermione Granger slept slumped uncomfortably over the book in her lap; around her on the bed numerous books lay spread about, illuminated in the soft glow of her still lit wand.

Behind closed eyes her mind wandered through memory and thought. Dreams conjured and rolled together faster than a flash of lightning. 

A great black dog watched her as she sat on the floor of Professor McGonagall’s office sorting files and papers from her filing cabinet. It didn’t move or make a sound, just sat there and watched her with curious eyes, head cocked to one side. It wasn’t scary, although it looked in need of some serious TLC. 

“Hello.” She found herself saying, and the dog gave a soft wuf. Biting her lip, she found the words coming without really thinking about it. “Thank you for saving me.”

The dog seemed to shrug, then it looked down, pointing its long black muzzle towards the papers she held in her hands. It wuffed again. 

Glancing down Hermione found herself holding a photograph. It had been hidden at the back of the filing cabinet. She remembered finding it. She looked down at the four faces, one looking remarkably like Harry’s. They were grinning out at her, pulling faces, making gestures and waving. The one that looked like Harry had to be Harry’s dad. One was definitely a younger version of Ratb... Peter Pettigrew. There was no mistaking the dark regal features of a younger Sirius Black. The last was vaguely familiar but she couldn’t place it. 

She turned it over in her hands, as she had done when she’d first found it. Before she’d realised why Professor McGonagall would have hidden it, rather than keep it on display with the countless other photographs of past Gryffindors. This picture was of two dead men and a traitor. She wondered if the professor had forgotten she even had it.

Messy scrawl covered the back. 

_To the wondrous Professor Minnie._

The writing changed. Someone else. 

_You know you’re going to miss us! Oh what will our lives be without your detentions?_

Again a new script. 

_Thank you for everything._

And finally four names, each obviously written by their owner. 

_Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot & Prongs._

Hermione looked up, confused, a question on the tip of her tongue, but she wasn’t in McGonagall’s office anymore. The picture in her hands had become a book, the world around her the library. Absently she placed the book down on a nearby table, her feet moving her deeper into the stacks of their own accord. 

Deep growling filled the air. She could practically taste the anger and hatred in that sound and yet she kept moving toward it. 

A voice filled the air. A voice she knew. She knew this memory too. It was the day she’d seen the dog in the library. The voice! The other person in the library, she had to work out who it was! But then something knocked into her from the side, and with a scream she jumped aside as the petrified form of Penelope Clearwater lurched out from between two sets of shelves towards her and a mighty hissing filled the air. 

“Ssssssssssssssssssssssirrrrrrrrrrrrrrriusssssssssssssssssssssssssssss”

Spinning around in fright, Hermione found herself face to face with Peter Pettigrew. This wasn’t how it happened. She hadn’t seen Pettigrew that night. But there he was, ducked and cowering. He was mumbling, that same pleading voice, the words too unclear to make out. 

“Mr Pettigrew?” She asked, stepping closer. “Are you alright Mr Pettigrew?”

Pettigrew open his mouth but only the hissing emerged. It sounded like Harry speaking parseltongue. “Ssssssssssssssssssssssirrrrrrrrrrrrrrriusssssssssssssssssssssssssssss”

Then he was shrinking, curling up and all of sudden there was Scabbers, Ron’s pet rat. It squeaked in fright, and whether it was instinct or pure dumb luck she didn’t know but Hermione ducked as with a mighty snarl, the great dog was sailing over her head, its huge jaws wide as he grabbed Scabbers and swallowed him whole. 

“No!” Hermione sat up, her book flying from her lap and her neck cracking brutally at the sudden movement. Panting for breath she looked around in confusion. No library, just heavy dark drapes. No lamp light, just the pale glow of her wand. 

A dream. Deep breath. Deep breath. She let her head hang forward as her heart still thundered. She felt choked. Hurt. Confused. The images from the dream rolled around inside her head and suddenly her eyes widened. Reaching for one of the books on her bed, she flicked through it, realised it didn’t have what she was looking for and turned to another. 

_‘Something far more mundane yet far more incredible’_

If she was right, then Dumbledore was the master of understatement.

~HpɸqH~

 

The great hall was beginning to empty when Hermione finally arrived for breakfast.

Distracted from his deliberations over the possibility of a third slice of toast Harry frowned as Hermione clambered into her usual seat across the dining table. Instantly he took in her slightly off kilter tie, skewed robes, flushed face and larger than normal hair but he refrained from making comment. It wouldn’t be polite. 

Ron was less tactful. Snorting into his juice, he wiped his mouth on his sleeve and stared open mouthed. “What happened to you?”

“I over slept.” Hermione snapped back. 

Ron laughed, looking at Harry with incredulity. “Blimey, she _is_ human.” 

“Not funny Ronald.” Hermione huffed in return, hurt but defiantly refusing to let either of the boys see that, although she suspected Harry would anyway. Lips pursed, she reached for a piece of toast, slammed it onto her plate and began to butter it like it had greatly offended her. 

Harry winced in sympathy for the twice cooked bread. He was rather glad he hadn’t been the one to make a comment this morning; apparently Hermione was even scarier when she over slept. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” Hermione bit out testily. “I just stayed awake a bit too late studying last night.”

“fuddying wah?” Ron asked around a mouthful of sausage. At the disgusted looks both Harry and Hermione shot him, he rolled his eyes and swallowed with effort. “Do we have a test?”

“No...” Hermione grimaced, pushing her plate of toast slightly away from herself. She’d never have to worry about dieting it seemed; Ron’s table manners could put a person off food for weeks. “It was just something I...” She paused then, and looked thoughtfully between Harry and Ron. “Look I think I may have worked something out. But we can’t talk about it here.”

“Alright.” Harry agreed with a nod. “Is it about the Chamber?”

“No. I think I may have solved the mystery of the Dog.” Hermione admitted cautiously, waiting for the ridicule. She got it from Ron, who scoffed and rolled his eyes. Even though she’d proven that she wasn’t as mental as Ron had previously claimed, Ron still didn’t seem to believe her. Lord knows what it would actually take. But Harry at least was on her side, although he might not be happy with what she wanted to tell him. Looking at him, she suddenly realised she’d lost him. His eyes were wide behind his glasses and his cheeks had gone bright pink. “Harry what’s wrong?”

“Fang!” He exclaimed out of nowhere, looking at Ron, whose eyes suddenly widened to match Harry’s.

“Oh bloody hell!”

“What?” Hermione persisted. “What about Fang?”

“We promised Hagrid we’d feed him!” Harry blurted guiltily. 

“He must be starving!” Ron added, his face crumpling. 

“We’ll go tonight.” Harry announced decidedly with a nod. “You can tell us what you’ve worked out then. No one will be able to overhear at Hagrid’s.”

~HpɸqH~

 

There was an old expression. Two’s company, three’s a crowd. It was certainly true of Harry’s invisibility cloak. Last year they’d all fitted underneath it just fine, but one year on and they’d all grown just enough to make it difficult to stay under the enchanted fabric without elbowing or being elbowed in the ribs, tripping up, being tripped over or getting disconcertingly close to one-another.

If they’d thought they’d had difficulty traversing the corridors of the castle, making their way down the steep slope to Hagrid’s was about a hundred times worse. As the shortest, Harry had taken the front end of their unorthodox invisible triangle, and although that meant his ribs were fairly safe, and he wasn’t constantly falling into someone else’s back, the backs of his heels were taking a battering never mind what it was doing to his poor shoes. 

Of course, it didn’t help that it was dark, or that the ground was sopping wet from the rain they’d had that afternoon. More than once one of them had been saved from landing on their backsides by the quick reactions of the others. The cloak would be useless if it got muddy. 

“You gonna tell us what you worked out then?” Ron said over Harry’s shoulder, and distracted, Harry almost slipped again. 

“Let’s get to Hagrid’s first alright?” Harry muttered, straightening his glasses that had caught against the cloak fabric and pulled up his face. “We need to concentrate.”

“This was a really bad idea.” Hermione mumbled.

“You were the one who didn’t want to talk anywhere someone could overhear.” Ron reminded her. “Besides, we need to feed Fang.”

“I’ve been thinking about that.” Hermione said with a curious tone. “Exactly what are you planning to feed him? It’s not like either of you have brought anything with you.”

“Hagrid will have left something.” Harry replied confidently. Something caught his foot, and carefully he stepped over it. “Watch it, tree root.”

“Thanks mate.” Ron replied.

They lapsed into silence again, all three of them concentrating on where they were putting their feet, the only sound emerging from under the cloak the occasional yelp, hiss or muttered curse from Ron. It was a long way down. And it felt even longer at the pace they were travelling, but eventually the slope levelled out and Hagrid’s hut seemed to be within reach. 

Flatter ground underfoot, they sped up. 

“Come on.” Ron groused, giving Harry a little nudge to go faster. “The sooner we’re inside, the sooner we can get out from under here.”

“And the sooner you can stop elbowing me in the boob.” Hermione grumbled, almost walking into Harry’s back when both he and Ron froze. “Would you move? Honestly, all I said was boob.”

“I never touched your... your...”

“Boob?” Harry sniggered. 

“Well I have bruises that say otherwise. And no I won’t show you.” Hermione hissed. “Now come on!”

“Never said I wanted to see.” Ron mumbled. “Why would I want to see your boob anyway?”

“Boys! Honestly.”

“I don’t want to see anyone’s boob. Let alone yours.”

“Ron.” Harry sighed. Sometimes he had to wonder about his best friend. 

“I mean, why would I want to see...”

“Ron!” Harry snapped, a little more loudly than intended. “Just forget it.”

“Hang on, why are you having a go at me?” Ron groused, scowl firmly in place as Harry pushed open the door to the hut and they shuffled their way inside, pulling off the cloak as they did. “I wasn’t the one who said I was touching anyone’s boob.”

“Can you stop saying boob please?” Hermione huffed in exasperation, wondering away from the pair. 

“You said boob first.” Ron replied. 

“You know, boobs are actually birds.” Harry offered in an amused tone. “Water birds I think.”

“Really?” Ron asked with curiosity. “Why would they name birds after...”

“Guys.” Hermione cut in, and something about her tone had both boys turning to face her. Biting her lip, she cast her worried expression at the two, her hand hovering near the hearth. “I think someone’s been staying here. The hearth’s warm.”

“Does Hagrid have any relatives?” Ron asked hopefully. “Or maybe Filch has been coming down to feed Fang, and has been lighting the hearth so he doesn’t get cold?”

Harry, who had moved over to the table, lifted the lid of the teapot to peer inside. Hagrid had been gone a week. Week old tea went mouldy. He knew that for a fact, and there wasn’t a trace of mould in the pot. “And made him tea?”

“Well you’re partly right.” Hermione offered in, looking down at the bowl on the floor by the dresser. “Someone has definitely been feeding Fang. There’s bits in his bowl and they look pretty fresh.”

Looking over Hermione’s shoulder, Harry grimaced. “Looks like leftovers of yesterday’s shepherd’s pie.”

“So we have dog food. But no dog.” Hermione observed. “He might be a great big coward, but if he was here he’d have come out and greeted us at least.”

Worrying his bottom lip in his teeth, Ron cast his increasingly anxious gaze around Hagrid’s small home. “I don’t like this Harry.” 

Crossing the room to put a hand on Ron’s arm, Harry gave him a reassuring pat. “Come on Ron. It’s probably just Filch. And maybe Fang decided he didn’t want to be alone anymore and followed him back to the castle.” 

Nodding, Ron took a decisive breath through his nose. “Filch right. Nothing to worry about. No dog stealing squatters here.”

“Dog stealing squatters?” Hermione laughed.

“What?” Ron challenged defensively. “It might have been.”

“Alright.” Hermione smirked. “If you insist.”

“Come on then know it all. You come up with a theory.” Ron threw back at her, folding his arms over his chest. 

“Or how about one of you explain why three second year Gryffindors are out here in the middle of the night?”

The voice came out of nowhere, new and unexpected and far deeper than any of their voices, although not the deepest voice any of them had ever heard. Startled, the trio turned to face its source and stepped closer to one another as they spied the man stood in the doorway. His face was scarred; his hair, like his clothes looked unwashed and although not long, it fell across his forehead and into his eyes. What drew all of their attention however, was the wand, raised and pointed at them. 

“Uh uh. None of that.” The newcomer said slowly, giving his wand a little flick in Harry’s direction as the dark haired boy tried to surreptitiously reach for his own wand. 

“Fang!” Ron suddenly cried out, and sure enough, Hagrid’s black bloodhound was wriggling its way past the newcomer’s legs. But he ignored Ron, and apparently aware of the tension in the room, tucked his tail between its legs and scampered past the three Gryffindors and into Hagrid’s bedroom. “What did you do to Fang?!”

“Not really the issue at the moment Ron.” Harry scolded, never letting his eyes leave the newcomer. Raising his chin defiantly, he clenched his fists at his sides to stop his hands from fidgeting. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

“One could ask you the same question.” The man replied smoothly. “It certainly isn’t safe for you to be wandering around the grounds at night Harry.”

Behind his glasses, Harry’s green eyes narrowed to a glare. How dare this man tell him what was safe and what wasn’t? He wasn’t surprised to be recognised, but the irony of being told, at wand point, that it wasn’t safe to be wandering the grounds at night was far from lost on him. 

“Yeah, you never know when you might meet a wand wielding dog-napping maniac.” Apparently the irony wasn’t lost on Ron either. 

“I know this doesn’t look good.” The newcomer began with a kind of resigned agitated disappointment. “Believe me, this isn’t how I wanted our first meeting to go. But now you’re here, I can’t risk you running back to the school just yet.”

“Oh great!” Ron blurted. “So what are you going to do? Tie us up and obliviate us?”

“Obliviate...” Hermione whispered to herself, then her head snapped up. “That’s where I know you from! You’re the man from the train! You cast a memory charm on the guard! You got me in detention!”

“He’s probably going to kill us and all you can think about is that he got you detention?” Ron snapped incredulously at a furious looking Hermione. 

He wasn’t the only now looking at Hermione, and Harry saw his opportunity. While the newcomer turned away his gaze, Harry reached for his wand. 

“So I was see...”

“Expelliarmus!”

The newcomer’s words were cut off as Harry flicked his wand, just as he’d seen Snape do at the duelling club. The results weren’t as spectacular; the newcomer did not suddenly go flying out of the door. Instead he yelped a curse as his wand was torn from his fingers and flew up into the air. 

Flew up and over their heads. He couldn’t help following it with his eyes, turning to watch it descend, his eyes widening as it was grasped in the dirty hand of a second intruder who had somehow managed to sneak in behind them. 

Beside him Ron let out a strangled sound from the back of throat. The three of them were now so close together they formed a tight triangle in the middle of the room, taking up about as much space as a single person normally would. Frantic hands grabbed Harry’s arm, yanking on his sleeve. “Harry... that’s, that’s...”

His own throat feeling decidedly tight, Harry raised his wand in a shaking hand. “Sirius Black.”

He’d seen the posters. He’d heard the stories. But faced with the man himself, something he couldn’t describe balled in his chest and rose through him like a wave of lava. He was aware, vaguely, of what felt like a struggle behind him. He was aware, vaguely, that he was stepping backwards, that they all were. The first man was visible now in his peripheral view. The three of them, two exits, and two men, one at each exit. 

“Harry,” Moving slowly, carefully, lowering himself and placing the wand on the floor before standing again hands raised, Black spoke for the first time, his voice gravelly and hoarse. “I need you to listen to me. I need to explain what happened...”

“I know what Happened! You betrayed my parents! You’re the reason they’re dead!” Harry was aware of all of it. But all he could think about was Black. All he could see was Black and nothing in the world was going to stop him... 

“No Harry, that’s not true.” The first man spoke, but was cut off when Ron brought his wand out. 

“Don’t move!” He snarled, having recovered from his earlier shock. “Like we’re gonna believe anything you say! You’re working with _him_!”

Ron’s distraction was apparently all that was needed for Hermione to shrug herself free of his grip, and suddenly she was standing in front of Harry, facing Black, her arm across Harry’s body pushing him back towards Ron. With Harry effectively behind her and Ron holding the first man at bay with his wand, Hermione pointed her own wand at Black with an outstretched arm, eyes narrowed and expression set.“Tell me why you saved me from the Basilisk!”

“Hermione?” Ron and Harry chorused in confusion, Harry trying to get around Hermione’s arm but failing. 

Glancing over her shoulder, her wand still aimed at Black, Hermione explained. “That’s why I wanted to talk to you. That’s what I worked out. He’s the Dog Harry. He’s an animagus.”

“How long have you known?” The first man asked, his eyes narrowed with menacing curiosity. 

“I finally worked it out last night.” Hermione replied, turning back to the two men who’d moved closer together. No, not closer together, they were crossing paths, always keeping the three of them between them; like wolves surrounding prey. “You’ve been in the school since you escaped haven’t you?” Then as if something clicked into place, she frowned. “You didn’t come for Harry at all. You came for Pettigrew. You were going to kill him that night. In the library.”

“Hermione!” Ron objected loudly. 

“At Last! Someone with a bit of sense!” Black threw his hands up in the air. 

“Sirius.” The first man warned.

But Black clearly wasn’t listening. “You’re right I was going to kill him that night. And the treacherous little worm would have deserved it!” Turning his gaze to Harry, he started forward, but stopped when Hermione re-levelled her wand. “I wasn’t the one who betrayed your parents Harry. He was! He sold them out and then when I caught up with him...”

“He transformed into a rat.” Hermione finished for him, eyes wide. “He’s an animagus too.” When everyone gave her incredulous or surprised looks, she tripped over her own tongue in her haste to explain. “He told us himself his nickname at school was Wormtail! That’s why he said Black turned him into a rat! But what if he was already a rat? And that’s how he got the name in the first place?” 

Narrowed eyed, Black looked down at Hermione. “You really are incredibly bright aren’t you?”

“I don’t believe you.” Harry shook his head, drawing Black’s attention to him. 

But Hermione wasn’t done. “No Harry. It makes sense. Remember what McGonagall said? Back when he was first brought back. She was amazed Pettigrew had managed to keep his sanity having been transfigured so long. She said it shouldn’t have been possible!”

“It isn’t possible.” The first man agreed quietly. “He would have lost his mind to the form within weeks, let alone years of being transformed.”

“And you always said he made you uncomfortable!” Hermione continued. “Like he was trying too hard to convince you how close friends he was with your parents, and how evil Black was.”

“Just because I don’t like Peter doesn’t mean I’m going to believe this... fairytale!” Harry objected. “Godfathers don’t just turn up out of the blue! People don’t get convicted of Murder without proof!”

“I was never convicted.” Black muttered quietly. 

“You’re mental!” Ron cried out. “What did you think they put you in Azkaban for?”

“I know what they put me in for!” Black snarled, making Ron squeak. “But I never had a trial! I was never convicted of anything! Try look it up if you like! You won’t find anything!”

“If you didn’t do it, why did they put you away?” Harry doggedly argued. 

“Because I was there! Because it was easy and convenient and quick! And no-one argued because your Dad, Peter and I made sure everyone thought I was their secret keeper, so no-one would go after Peter! Only no-one had to go after Peter because he’d been selling us out to Voldermort...” Black rolled his eyes when Hermione and Ron winced, “for well over a year.”

“Harry.” The first man said gently, moving with the kind of caution that Black clearly didn’t feel the need for despite the three raised wands. “I know this is a lot to take in, and goes against everything you’ve been told your whole life. And believe me I understand how that feels. But I swear to you, we are not here to hurt you, and the only reason we are still here at Hogwarts is because it’s the safest place for Sirius to be until we can find and talk to Dumbledore. Now I’m not asking you to believe us or trust us straight away, but can you at least give us time to explain, properly. And then... and then when you leave if you still feel we’re a threat, then you must do what you feel is right.”

Ron scoffed loudly at the first man’s words. “You can’t be bloody serious. Do you expect us to believe that if we lower our wands you won’t just...”

Stony faced, Harry lowered his wand. “I’ll listen.”

“Harry are you mental?” Ron yelped incredulously. “They’ll kill us.”

“If they were going to kill us they would have already.” Harry reasoned. “I want to know what happened to my parents.”

“Thank you Harry.”The first man sighed. Suddenly he extended his hand. “I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. I was at school with your Parents. Remus Lupin.”

Beside Harry, her wand having been set on the known mass murderer, follower of Voldermort and deranged psychopath Sirius Black, Hermione blinked rapidly for a moment, before lowering her wand and facing her friends. “I think I need to sit down.”

“Hermione?” Harry asked in confusion, his eyes widening as she suddenly slumped against him. “Hermione!”

Frowning, Sirius Black looked down at her. “That’s the second time she’s fainted around me.”

“Must be your charm.”


	11. In the Hands of a Child

For the first time possibly ever in the history of Hogwarts, there wasn’t a single student relishing the prospect of Saturday. There were no joyous cries of celebration for the weekend, no relieved relaxing of tense shoulders as the burdens of classes were relieved for two days. As the students filed into the great hall on mass for a rushed breakfast before being escorted back to their houses, they seemed to realise the same distasteful truth as one, and the groan almost shook the building. 

Professor McGonagall’s tired and pinched face said it all. The lack of food on the tables said more. 

Climbing over the bench seat next to the Gryffindor table, Harry took his customary place next to Ron, opposite Hermione. None of them looked exactly on top form this morning, and somehow their casual weekend clothes seemed to highlight the bags under their eyes and the lines of fatigue across their brows. They hadn’t spoken a single word to one another since they’d grunted their good mornings in the common room. Talking seemed like too much effort to their exhausted bodies and minds. 

So they just sat, barely taking in the hum of despondent conversation around them until the ringing chink of a knife carefully tapped against the side of crystal goblet drew their attention to the front of the hall. 

“Good Morning students.” Professor McGonagall greeted, but despite the pleasant words her tone held an edge of foreboding to it. The Gathered students seemed to sink lower in the seats. “I’m sure you’ve all realised by now that the restrictions put in place for your own safety remain in effect. However, we are aware of the issues that have arisen during the week due to the confined accommodations. Therefore, it has been agreed that the Great Hall will remain open to students throughout the day, both today and tomorrow.”

A relieved titter ran through the assembled students. It wasn’t the news they’d all been hoping for, but it was at least something. It had been bad enough being confined to their common rooms when they’d been able to get out for lessons. The prospect of spending the entire weekend in one confined space had been daunting to say the least. 

But Professor McGonagall wasn’t done. “However, I would like to point out that the rules regarding students walking the halls remain in effect. No student is to be walking the halls without an escort. Prefects included. Any students caught out alone will face a severe penalty, as will their house.”

“That is if they don’t get petrified first, ay Harry?” Fred sniggered conspiratorially from where he sat a few places further up the table. Opposite him George leaned forward to so he could catch Harry’s eye and winked. 

“Something you wish to share Mr Weasley?” McGonagall asked loudly with a raised eyebrow, drawing the attention of the entire hall to their section of the Gryffindor table. Shaking their heads, the twins sank low in their seats. There was something in her tone that not even Fred and George were about to cross. 

Casting one more stern look in their direction, McGonagall refocused on the hall at large. “Well then. If anyone has any problems, there will be members of staff in the Great Hall all day. I know this probably isn’t the weekend you were all hoping for, but let us try to enjoy it nonetheless. Starting with breakfast.”

With a gentle wave of her hand, the empty platters that had sat in the middle of the tables piled themselves with pastries, racks filled with warm toast and baskets with fruit. Tureens of porridge and great bowls of dried cereals appeared along with jugs of juice, milk, tea, coffee and hot chocolate. There were trays of fried eggs, bacon, sausages, hash browns, tomatoes, mushrooms. The list of food was practically endless. 

As the students all seemed to dive into the food headfirst looking for all the world like they hadn’t been fed in months rather than a few hours, McGonagall sat herself down with a wry shake of her head.

On the Gryffindor table, Ron had rushed straight to the hot food, as he did every morning. He apparently had some kind of deep seated prejudice against anything even remotely healthy, or green. Picking a banana from a fruit basket, Hermione pealed it carefully and sliced it over her bowl of porridge. She’d almost finished when she finally glanced up and frowned. 

“Is there something wrong with your cereal?” She asked Harry curiously, watching him push his breakfast around the bowl with his spoon. Her nose wrinkled as she looked down at her own. “Have they put salt in it again?”

“What?” Harry asked vaguely, looking up. “No. I’m just not hungry.”

“How can you not be hungry?” Ron asked without looking away from where he was already piling his second load of bacon onto his plate. “I’m starved.”

Hermione huffed with an irritated shake of her head and her nose scrunched up even further as she watched Ron pile far too much food into his mouth. “How is it you don’t choke?”

Ron shrugged and went back to shovelling. Harry glanced at him out of the corner of his eye then looked back to his own breakfast. He knew Ron thought he was crazy, but he actually _liked_ porridge. Today though, he couldn’t seem to get his stomach to loosen up enough to eat it, so he just pushed it around, making troughs and mountains out of the sticky oats then watching the contents of the bowl sink back to flat. 

He was so tired. Even when he, Ron and Hermione had finally made it back to the dorm, he hadn’t been able to sleep properly. Even now his head was back in Hagrid’s hut; the events of the previous evening rolling through his mind leaving his stomach in knots and his head full of cotton.

He found himself thinking back to the first time he’d heard about Sirius Black’s escape. Professor McGonagall had summoned him to her office before breakfast that morning and broken the news to him in person, feeling Harry supposed, like he had the right to be told away from the crowd in the hall. Since then he’d found himself thinking off and on about what he’d do if he ever came face to face with the man his parents had chosen to be his godfather; the man who had betrayed that trust, that faith, and given them over to Voldermort. 

He’d tried to imagine what he would do, how he would react. He’d tried to imagine what Black would be like. He hadn’t needed Mr Weasley’s letter or Professor McGonagall’s stern warning for him not to go looking for him though. Why would he want to go looking for someone who wanted to kill him, godfather or not? Of course he’d been angry and resentful, and yes he’d hated the man, but he wasn’t stupid. He hadn’t been about to go looking for a mass murdering psychopath. 

Just because he wasn’t daft though, that didn’t mean he’d trusted his luck not to land him in Black’s lap anyway. So he _had_ thought about it. And just as he’d thought it would, his luck had played out like it usually had and the meeting with Black he’d had no intention of having, happened. Only it hadn’t gone anywhere near how he imagined. 

Granted when he had imagined it, the scenario had played out in one of three ways, and in all cases Black had been armed, crazy and very much out to kill him. In his bolder waking moments he imagined capturing Black in various different ways. In his less bold waking moments he escaped and Dumbledore captured Black. In his nightmares he didn’t escape. In his nightmares he never escaped, even when he came close, and then Black would laugh with glee as he killed him, the last thing he would see being Black’s eyes alive with victory. 

In reality those eyes hadn’t been nearly as mad as he’d imagined they’d be. Nor were they as dark. It was hard to really see Black’s eyes on the posters or his pictures in the paper; in those images he was always struggling insanely against the ones that held him, screaming and fighting; so at odds with the much calmer reality Harry had met last night. He might have paced a lot, and had at one point gone off on a rather scary shouting rant, but in reality they were haunted eyes rather than insane. They’d been hard to look into, filled as they were with shadows. When he had met them though, he’d been unnerved by them but not afraid. 

Black was strange in a way Harry couldn’t really describe. What he wasn’t, was creepy in the way that so put him off Pettigrew. Cautiously glancing up, Harry spotted the man in question at the teachers’ table, messily eating his breakfast as he did every day except when he visited St Mungos. 

A shudder ran down Harry’s spine. Last night he’d agreed to listen to what Black and that Lupin guy had to say, and he had. He’d listened to everything and if what they said was true, then the man responsible for his parent’s deaths and the deaths of thirteen Muggles wasn’t the man he’d met last night with the haunted eyes, but was actually sitting not thirty feet away, eating breakfast and flinching every time Snape looked at him. 

Pettigrew looked round and found Harry’s eyes then, a very rodent like grin splitting his face as he raised his hand to give the bespectacled youth a little wave. Drawing a quick gasp, Harry turned abruptly back to his porridge, hunching his shoulders. 

“You alright mate?” Ron asked as he wiped the last of the egg yolk and bean sauce from his plate with a slice of toast. 

“Pettigrew’s looking at me.” Harry replied quietly so only Ron and Hermione could hear. 

Piece of toast almost at his mouth, Ron abruptly dropped it to his plate, pushing his plate away as he cringed. 

“You have to act natural Harry.” Hermione cautioned in a hushed voice, leaning forward over the table. “Remember what Mr Lupin said? Pettigrew can’t know you know. He might attack you. Or he could run, then...” She stopped herself, glanced around then said her next words meaningfully, “ _Mr Lupin’s friend_ , might not be able to convince Dumbledore.”

“That’s only if Harry believes what they said.” Ron reminded them.

“You don’t?” Harry asked, but he wasn’t all that surprised. Last night Ron had been the most sceptical of all of them. He hadn’t wanted to hear them out. Hadn’t wanted to stay and listen and had sat arms folded, scowl firmly in place and wand in hand the entire time. 

If anything, Harry was sure Black had found it amusing rather than threatening, and he wandered if the escapee knew that Ron’s wand was next to useless. It would make sense if he did. After all, Black admitted to having followed the three of them about for weeks. But according to Black, he’d only been doing so when he hadn’t been able to follow Pettigrew, and he’d only being doing it to make sure Pettigrew couldn’t hurt them.

He’d seemed so incredibly earnest about that part. When he’d told Harry he couldn’t bear the thought of anything happening to him. Lupin had made him back off at that point, and Harry had to admit to being grateful for that. Black was so... intense. It made him uncomfortable. He hadn’t known what to say. 

What exactly did you say to a mass murdering psychopath who claimed to be desperately concerned for your safety? Somehow ‘thank you’ seemed a bit inadequate.

“Obviously Harry believes them.” Hermione said with a roll of her eyes, bringing Harry back to the conversation. Her tone implied she felt her statement the most obvious thing in the world. 

“Err, why is it obvious?” Harry asked incredulously, eyebrows crawling into his hairline.

“Because it makes sense.” Hermione frowned at him. Her patented, _‘you’re being very thick_ ’ scowl very much in place. When both boys just shook their heads at her, she huffed and raised her hand to tick off her points one finger at a time. “Fine. One. We know Pettigrew already lied about being an animagus. Even Professor McGonagall couldn’t explain how someone could be transfigured like he claimed to be and be sane, and she’s one of the foremost experts on Transfiguration in the world. Two. The only person _Mr-Lupin’s-friend_ , has tried to attack is Pettigrew...”

“That we know of.” Ron cut in. 

“That we know of,” Hermione grudgingly added to her own diatribe, “but he’s had more opportunities to find Harry alone than he has to find Pettigrew, yet Harry’s still alive, and Pettigrew wouldn’t be if I hadn’t interrupted them in the library. Three. They let us go last night. He’s already got your parents Harry, Pettigrew and twelve Muggles against his name, he wouldn’t have cared about killing two more to get to his goal, _if_ , like everyone says, he thinks you dying can bring back _you-know-who_. Four. Not one of the articles I’ve read about _Mr-Lupin’s-friend_ , says anything about a trial. So he wasn’t lying about it. He really was sent to prison without being tried.”

“How do you know that?” Harry questioned, head cocked to one side his brows furrowed, although mostly he was just overwhelmed. Again. 

“I’ve been keeping up with the stories about him in the paper since he escaped. You know, just in case.” Hermione shrugged. 

“So what?” Ron blurted. “Just because it hasn’t been in the paper doesn’t mean he didn’t have one. The Ministry doesn’t lock people up for no reason. And you know what? Don’t you find it just a bit weird he’s been following us around all this time? And what about that Lupin bloke? He’s been following us about too! If he was such a good bloke, and was such good mates with Harry’s Mum and Dad why didn’t he just visit? And where has he been all these years Harry’s lived with the bloody Dursley’s? Oh yeah, right caring that is.”

“Ron keep your voice down!” Harry hissed, his cheeks flaming. It was bad enough that Ron and Hermione knew about the Dursleys he didn’t need the whole school knowing. Besides, they didn’t need anyone else knowing any of what they were talking about either. “We shouldn’t be talking about this here.”

“Harry’s right.” Hermione nodded firmly. “We should go back to the common room. I don’t think many people are going back there.”

Sure enough glancing around, it didn’t seem that a lot of people were in a hurry to leave. In fact a few had already found books or chess sets to pass the time. There were a few people gathering at the doors however, waiting for the prefects to escort them back to their houses. 

“Come on.” Harry sighed, standing up. “I’m done.”

“But you didn’t eat anything!”Hermione worried. 

“I’ll eat at lunch.”

~HpɸqH~

 

If anyone had told Sirius Black when he was nineteen that his fate would lie in the hands of a child he would have laughed. If they’d told him when he was twenty one, he would have smiled fondly at his infant godson and shrugged his acceptance. His life for that tiny child? It wasn’t even a decision to make. He’d been lost from the very first moment he’d held him.

It used to be a joke between them, between James, Lily, Remus, Peter and himself. The others found no end of amusement in just how besotted he was with little Harry, although to be fair, Remus had been almost as bad, if not worse. James used to play up to it, mock lamenting that his son had stolen his best friends, that Harry was the only reason Sirius and Remus bothered to visit any more and that only Peter had remained loyal. Looking back at those memories, the irony of James’ over acted melodramatic pronouncements hit like a physical pain. 

That Peter’s ‘loyalty’ stemmed from the fact that Harry would wail like Banshee every time someone put him in Peter’s arms now made Sirius wonder if Harry hadn’t been the most astute of all of them. At the time they’d all thought that Harry merely picked up on Peter’s nerves and awkwardness in holding a baby, but what if Harry had sensed more than that?

Could babies do that? Had Harry felt the betrayal that rotted Peter’s soul and instinctively tried to get away from it each time Lily had put him in Peter’s arms?

It was a strange thought. One he didn’t want to examine too closely. There were a lot of things about that time, mistakes and assumptions he’d made that he’d come to sorely regret. Better not to add to the list. Besides, even with all the regret, he couldn’t help but think of the time he’d spent with little baby Harry with bittersweet longing and infinite fondness.

He couldn’t really explain why he’d fallen so hard for that squalling little infant. Maybe because he’d known that he’d never have children of his own. Not something that had ever really bothered him, but it was something that he had certainly been aware of. Well whatever the reason, he’d sworn he’d do everything in his power to protect the little Pronglet and in doing so had willingly placed his fate in Harry’s hands. 

And now he had done it again. Only this time those green eyes so much like Lily’s hadn’t looked at him with the kind of adoration and faith only a baby could project, they’d glared at him with distrust. There had been no recognition in their depths; nothing remained of that tiny baby to call upon. Small for his age, with eyes far older than their years and a face so much like his father’s it was like looking into the past, the Harry Potter he had finally met properly last night was an unknown. He could no more predict which way Harry would jump than he could predict what the weather would be on this date next year. 

He’d done all he could to try and convince Harry that he was not the enemy, not the killer that he was painted to be. He would have spent all night pleading his case if he could. He just hoped he’d said enough in those couple of hours. And at least Harry knew the truth now, whether or not he chose to believe it. He’d done his best. He just had to keep reminding himself of that. 

Nothing had happened like he and Remus had planned or how he himself had hoped. To be honest he hadn’t even considered the possibility of being found by Harry and his friends. Whether Remus had, Sirius didn’t know but he doubted it. If he had, perhaps he would have remembered about James’ old cloak, and made the not so giant leap of logic that it was now in Harry’s possession. 

He wanted to kick himself for that. He couldn’t believe he’d actually forgotten how James’ invisibility cloak, unlike any other that Sirius had ever come across, didn’t just hide someone from view, but hid their scent as well. That was why he hadn’t picked up any scent trails approaching Hagrid’s when he and Remus returned last night. Why they had only realised there was anyone in the hut when they’d seen shadows across the windows and Remus had heard the faint mutterings of voices from within. 

Of course the realisation had had them both in a panic. They’d left too much casual evidence of themselves within the hut to just turn tail and walk away. He still didn’t know even now what Remus’ plan had been when he’d whispered for him to go around to the back entrance, but Sirius had to assume it was something along the lines of ambushing the intruders and casting some kind of memory charm. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time in recent months Remus had done something like that. Of course he’d received the shock of his life when he’d snuck in through the back door to find Remus pointing his wand at none other than his godson. 

That hadn’t been how either of them had wanted to be introduced to Harry and something inside of him had curled up and whined in agony when Harry had turned to aim his wand in his direction; so much anger, so much hate in that young face. 

It hurt. It hurt to see that expression on a face so much like James’. It hurt to see that expression on the face of the tiny baby he’d once bounced on his knee and the almost toddler who had ridden on the back of his animagus form, miniature fingers tangled in his fur as he laughed with unrestrained glee. It hurt to see that face still so young, but so much older now. A solid living reminder of the time he had lost, of the mistakes he had made. 

He didn’t begrudge Harry his anger or his hate. How could he? He might not have been the one to betray James and Lily, he might not have ever raised his hand to Harry or anyone he loved, but it was his fault Harry had grown up without his parents. It was his fault James and Lily were dead. It was his fault Peter had been secret keeper. It had been his great idea. His grand plan. His oh so clever scheme. _His fault. His fault. His fault_. 

“Stop it.”

The voice sliced through Sirius’ thoughts like a machete, halting him in his tracks and ending his previously endless pacing across the confined space of Hagrid’s main room. Looking up from where he’d been staring at his restless hands, Sirius turned his head towards the voice’s source, peering at Remus through the curtain of his straggly hair. He hadn’t realised he’d started to speak his thoughts out-loud. But then he wasn’t entirely conscious of a lot of things he did at the moment. Thank Merlin he’d held himself together long enough to appear at least marginally sane last night. 

From his place sat on the couch, elbows lent on his thighs and clasped hands dangling between his knees, Remus leant forward and looked up at Sirius with the same passively calm expression he’d worn all day. “You’ve made yourself bleed.”

Looking back at his hands, Sirius realised Remus was right. He’d been picking at his nails and the skin at their edges and his thumb was indeed bleeding. He hadn’t even noticed. Purely out of having no better alternative, he placed the wounded edge of his thumb in his mouth and sucked, scowling at Remus a little bitterly through his hair as he did. If Remus hadn’t pointed it out he wouldn’t have noticed how much it stung. 

Besides he felt vaguely justified scowling at Remus right now. How could he just sit there, so calm? He’d even slept. Remus Lupin, the resident insomniac of the marauders twenty four days out of twenty eight – Remus never had a problem sleeping just before and just after the moon, he’d always been too exhausted – had managed to sleep despite the fact that any minute Aurors and Hit Wizards could come bursting through the door. 

Sirius didn’t know whether to tear his hair out in frustration at Remus’ lack of concern, or marvel at his apparent faith in Harry and his friends to not turn them in. 

“Sirius. You need to calm down.” Remus spoke up again, his tone soothing but weary. “When Harry comes back if he see’s you like this it’ll only frighten him.”

“If he comes back.” Sirius muttered, returning to his pacing. 

“Harry’s a smart boy.” Remus reasoned in return. “You’ve watched him with Peter just as I have. He’d already begun to see things weren’t right there some time ago. He just didn’t know why. Now he has more to work with he’ll make the right decision.”

Sirius couldn’t think of anything to say in reply to that. He wanted to have that much faith in Harry. He really did. But he couldn’t, not matter how hard he tried. Harry was his godson, the baby he’d loved from the moment he was born, perhaps even before, but the looming prospect of recapture, the bitter knowledge that Peter had managed to escape justice before clouded his head. And there was a part of him, the very darkest, angriest part of him that didn’t want to wait for Harry to make up his mind; didn’t want to wait for fate to deal him his hand.

No, that dark and angry part of him just wanted to run into the castle and kill the treacherous little bastard right now, everything else be damned. Make the worm pay. Make him suffer. Make him writhe in agony in payment for all the agony he’d given. To him, to Harry, to Remus. And then, then when Peter had no more pain to give, he’d kill him, his life in payment for those taken. For Lily. For James. 

Justice. 

No. Breathe. Not Justice. That dark and angry part wanted _Revenge_. That dark and angry part sounded more and more like his mother every-time he listened to it, an echo of the rants he’d endured endlessly as a child. 

_‘Shame of this house! You’ll pay for what you’ve done! You’ll pay in kind! Every hurt you’ve given me you filthy blood traitor, I’ll take from you!’_

Peter deserved to die. To die painfully.

_‘Is this what you’ve become Sirius? The very person you spent your life trying not to be? One of them? One of your family? That’s not the Sirius I knew. That’s not the Sirius I can trust.’_

Remus’ voice. Remus’ words. That morning in the shrieking shack as he’d begged Remus to help him kill Peter. That was why he stayed. That was why he paced the tiny space of this hut rather than return to haunting the passages and walls of the castle waiting for his opportunity to strike. Because Remus was right. Because if he killed Peter then he would become everything Peter had made him out to be. 

Because if he killed Peter now, then any chance he would have had of convincing Harry of his innocence would be lost. Any chance of fulfilling the promise he’d made to James twelve years ago would be lost.

So he would have to wait. 

And hope.

~HpɸqH~

 

At the sound of knocking on her office door, Professor Minerva McGonagall acting Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry - and sworn enemy of Ministry bureaucracy as of eleven o’clock the previous evening when she’d woken to find herself stuck by her cheek with drool to page forty eight of an admissions form – looked up and valiantly resisted the urge to growl. She had left precise, concise, and above all else clear to the point of blunt instructions that she was not to be disturbed except in the case of some dire catastrophe, or should the fates smile, the return of Albus Dumbledore. The former of course being the more likely, and the latter the much hoped for; mainly as she wished to hex the former Headmaster and her long time friend into next Thursday. If the last week had convinced her of nothing else, it was that Albus had been dealing with paperwork by casting incendios at it until it went away.

As the door opened she mentally braced herself for the likely pronouncement of incoming doom, folded her hands on top of the table, straightened her back and waited. 

She did not have to wait long, as a young nervous, yet unfailingly friendly face peered around the door. 

“Sorry to interrupt Professor. But he insisted he see you.” The young woman said with the tone of someone who knew they were going against explicit instructions but had been left with no other course of action other than to be _mean_. Charity Burbage did not do _mean_. 

“He who Professor Burbage?” Minerva asked with as much patience as she could muster. Instead of replying however, Burbage only opened the door wider to reveal a very familiar young face. “It’s alright Charity.” She sighed with a pinched smile and a beckoning gesture with her fingers towards the small second year. “I will see Mr Potter. You may return to your duties. Well Mr Potter? Don’t dally in the doorway, whatever urgent matter you felt required my immediate attention enough to badger your poor head of house, I assume you would rather not discuss it across the length of my office.”

“No professor.” Harry answered as he hurriedly crossed the space to stand in front of McGonagall’s wide desk. “Thank you for agreeing to talk to me.”

McGonagall made a sceptical noise and removed her glasses, giving the boy a look that was guaranteed to make the younger students squirm. Sure enough, Harry shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot and continued to keep his gaze fixed on the table top.

Now Harry Potter was a hard one to read a great deal of the time. He was an accomplished liar for a start. Exceptionally talented at keeping secrets, and possessed an enormous amount of cynicism where authority figures and adults in general were concerned. But over the last year and a half, Minerva prided herself in the fact that she had not only earned the boy’s fragile trust but also had reached a point with young Harry where he did not approach her with the initial preconception that something bad would happen if he were to relax his guard. “Mr Potter, despite what the Weasley twins may have you believe, I am not psychic. Nor am I blessed with great amounts of spare time to simply sit here watch you fidget.”

“Sorry.” Harry mumbled, then taking a deep breath he looked up and met McGonagall’s eyes for the first time since entering the room. “Do you remember when you told me all about Pettigrew? About what happened to him and how he was friends with my parents?”

“I do indeed recall that conversation.” McGonagall nodded, brow furrowing as she wondered where Harry was going with this. 

“You said if I had any more questions, I should come and talk to you...” Harry trailed off and Minerva sighed, sitting back. 

With a wave of her hand she directed him towards a chair. “So I did. Have a seat Potter.” As Harry moved to sit down, Minerva studied his troubled expression and leant forward. “What is it you would like to know exactly? And if you don’t mind me asking, why have you decided to wait to ask me until now?”

There was a flicker. It was so quick she almost missed it, and would have done so had she not been studying his face so intently. A hesitation. A battle. And with the clarity of the psychic she had just professed not to be, McGonagall knew the next words out of Harry’s mouth would be a lie. 

“Pettigrew said something to me and it just got me thinking.”

A not very subtle lie either. Minerva knew for a fact that Harry and Peter had not spoken to each other in weeks, something Pettigrew lamented often when she took a moment to check up on him. Either Potter was slipping, which was in its own way a good thing, or he wasn’t comfortable lying to _her_. More progress? Perhaps. She would have to see what it was Harry actually wanted to know about. “Go on.”

Harry nodded, then he delivered his request with all the finesse and subtlety of the Hogwarts express coming off its rails. “I want to know about Sirius Black.” 

Taking a sharp inhale through her nose, Minerva sat back in her seat. “I see.” She had of course told him about Black. At least, she’d made sure he knew enough that Peter couldn’t inadvertently drop a bombshell on him. She had not, admittedly, gone into any great detail. “And what exactly would you like to know about Sirius Black?”

“Anything I guess.” Harry shrugged, looking uncomfortable before his expression turned dismissive and Minerva narrowed her eyes. He’d gone unreadable again. There was something he wasn’t telling her. Something that was the root of his curiosity. After a moment, he spoke again. “I guess, I guess I’m just wondering why my parents made him my godfather if he was...” 

When Harry trailed off with a confused and frustrated shake of his head, Minerva took pity. Standing, she walked around her desk until she was beside his seat. "Let me show you something.”

Once Harry was stood she led him across the room to space of wall between two immaculately neat bookshelves. There, also precisely neat, were hung a serious of group photographs, all in chronological order. “I have been a teacher here at Hogwarts for over thirty years, but this year was to be my twenty second as head of Gryffindor house. The first year that I was head of house, was also the year your parents started here.” Pointing, she indicated the first of the many photos and smiled tightly as Harry leaned closer. “There’s your father. And your mother at the end of the row. Do you see who is sitting either side of your father?”

“Well that has to be Pettigrew and... that’s. That’s Sirius Black isn’t it?” Harry asked in clear shock. 

“A Black in Gryffindor.” Minerva nodded with a wry chuckle. “Never before or since have I heard the sorting hat make a pronouncement that resulted in such complete silence in the Great Hall. You could have heard a mouse breathe... His family were not impressed. The Blacks had been in Slytherin as far back as there are records. But, there you have it. The sorting hat put him in Gryffindor, along with your father and by the end of their first year they were as close friends as I have ever known. They were both charming, witty, exceptionally gifted and both formidable quiddich players. Black was a beater, although he was fair keeper if we needed a sub. They were also mischievous, oh dear me were they mischievous. They were fiercely loyal to one another too, and I can think of only one incident where a disagreement between them extended beyond a day or so. They were much like yourself and Mr Weasley in fact, although with a far greater propensity for trouble if you can believe it. And they remained close through all of their time here and beyond. No one was surprised when your father asked Black to be best man at his wedding, nor when Black was chosen to be your godfather. That was how close they were.”

Now she sighed, her eyes sad as she took in the smiling faces of the seventh picture on the wall, then they ticked down to Harry. His expression was focussed, thoughtful, intense as he studied the wall of photographs. 

“If they were so close...” Harry began quietly. “Why would he betray them?”

Minerva pursed her lips, her hand coming to rest unconsciously on Harry’s shoulder; although who was drawing comfort and reassurance from whom was open for debate. “Why indeed? Black’s betrayal... in some ways it was a shock to those of us who knew him well, but then again, he was a Black. Never has there been a family more fanatical about blood purity, or more enamoured with the dark arts than the Blacks, and they made no secret of their support of You Know Who. Exactly when or why Sirius joined _his_ service, I just can’t tell you, Potter. I suspect the only one who will ever know the real truth is Black himself.” 

Again silence fell over the room as Harry studied the pictures. The smiling faces. The laughter and clear affection in the quick sideways glances shared between the friends in each of the first seven pictures. The adoring looks shared between James and Lily in the seventh. The outrage and shock on Peter’s face in the fifth as bottles of water appear from the folds of the robes of James and Sirius and emptied themselves over the smaller boy’s head. The mischievous smirk on Remus Lupin’s face, quickly hidden behind a reproving frown in the same picture. 

Perhaps Harry had sensed the focus of her attention, or merely followed her line of sight, but he suddenly broke the silence. “Who is he?”

Her attention drawn away from the pictures, McGonagall narrowed her eyes slightly. There was something off about the question, but she couldn’t place it. She saw no harm in answering however. “Remus Lupin.”

Harry nodded and looked back to the picture. “He was a friend of Dad’s too wasn’t he?”

Now it was Minerva’s turn to cast a curious look at the boy beside her. Harry just shrugged. “Peter mentioned him.”

Again, something didn’t ring true. No exactly a lie, but not exactly the truth either. Words spoken a little too casually, a little too quickly. A question predicted, an answer ready-prepared. 

“He was indeed. But also of your Mother’s.” She finally answered. “Even before your Mother would give your father the time of day she and Lupin were friends.”

“What happened to him?” Harry asked curiously, although he at least knew part of the answer. For the last three months at least, Remus Lupin had been stalking him and his friends around Hogwarts. 

Now Minerva sighed sadly, a pensive look on her face as she studied Harry carefully. How much to tell the boy. It certainly wasn’t her place to reveal Remus’ lycanthropy not that she would anyway, but was it fair to tell Harry what she and Dumbledore both suspected? That in all likelihood Black had already found and murdered Lupin? Probably not. He was just a boy. A Boy who had seen and heard and learned far too much for one his age already. 

Finally she answered. “I don’t know.”

It was the truth, and also a lie. Given Harry’s thoughtful and somehow disappointed expression, Minerva had to wonder whether Harry knew it as well as she did. 

Professor McGonagall looked down at her young charge with increasing concern; anxiety suddenly lodging in her chest. Twice now Harry had claimed to have gleaned information from a man McGonagall knew all too well that the boy disliked and spoke to only when forced. And while Harry was full of carefully worded questions, more than once since his arrival in her office, Minerva had been struck with the feeling that Harry wasn’t looking for answers, rather confirmation of answers he already had. 

A sudden interest in Sirius Black.

A reluctance to be truthful as to where he had gained knowledge Minerva knew neither she or any of the other staff would have given him. 

His obvious frustration and indecision. 

Laying her hand back on his shoulder, she drew his attention from the wall of pictures again, offering him a small apologetic look when he startled at the contact. Turning the boy to face her, she stared down at his now defensive expression. “Harry, is there something perhaps you need to tell me?”

~HpɸqH~

 

Night had fallen. The light of the waning half moon fought valiantly against the ardent shine of stars, but was now too far diminished to win out over those distant suns. Despite the best efforts of the March sunshine to warm the day, the darkness brought with it the crisp reminder of winter’s reluctance to depart.

Behind the closed shutters of Hagrid’s hut, a lone figure sat silently on one the sturdy but careworn chairs around the small table. His shoulders hunched, he absently rolled his wand across the scratched surface. The back door lay slightly ajar, the icy draught curling around the man’s ankles. In front of the hearth, two dogs lay curled against the cold, one asleep and snoring, one only seemingly so. 

Remus picked up his wand and ran it through his fingers, sighing deeply. His eyes strayed to the dogs; more specifically the larger, shaggier dog. Sirius had thrown a fit during the afternoon, his frustration, worry and impatience getting the best of him. He’d yelled, cursed, panicked, thrown things and then in a moment of horrified realisation as Remus had been forced to duck the rain of shattered Pottery, he’d dropped into his animagus form. He’d been like that ever since. 

As he watched Sirius now, he saw the dog’s ears twitch, then perk up; the large head rising and turning to face the door, expression intent. This was the moment they’d been waiting for all day. The moment that would decide their fate. The moment they’d fought about constantly all day. Standing and moving from the table, Remus took up his wand, even as Sirius cautiously padded away from the fire and closer to the door, sniffing the air. 

Someone was coming. 


	12. Limbo Under the Moon

Harry had come. 

He hadn’t run to his professors. He hadn’t run to the Ministry. 

He’d believed, at least enough to give them, to give _him_ , a chance.

Harry had come. 

He was truly James’ son it would seem. Or at least he had his father’s approach to rules. 

It had been more than a week now, since Harry had walked back into the hut alone under his invisibility cloak, and with that one action justified Remus’ faith. Sirius had to admit he felt a bit guilty for doubting them both. For doubting Remus’ trust and perception, and Harry in general. 

It was just so hard to see daylight sometimes. So hard to believe in good things happening after all the bad. After so long in the dark. 

But Harry had come. Harry believed him. The dark clouds Sirius had seen in Harry’s green eyes - in Lily’s eyes - hadn’t completely lifted. It chafed. It hurt. Then again, he couldn’t expect more could he? Harry didn’t completely trust him, why would he? Harry didn’t know him. 

But Harry didn’t hate him. Harry believed him. Harry had come.

It was more than he’d ever dreamed of. Harry knew the truth and didn’t hate him, and for Sirius Black that was more than enough for now.

~HpɸqH~

 

The patience for which Remus Lupin had always been renowned was finally wearing thin. He’d been patient as he’d pursued Sirius through the school, been patient while they’d tried to locate Dumbledore. Been patient through Sirius’ mood swings and tantrums. Been patient as they’d waited for Harry to make his decision and seal their fates - A werewolf assisting an escaped convict? Oh yes, Harry had most certainly held both of their fates in his hands for those tense few hours. Remus had been under no illusions as to what would have happened to him, what could still happen to him, if he was caught aiding Sirius Black.

But he could deal with that for the most part. He could endure Sirius’ fickle temper and mercurial moods because helping him was the right thing to do. Just as trying to find him had been the right thing to do before, no matter how long it took. He felt no pangs of conscience hiding from the Ministry; it had been part of his life since long before Sirius had escaped Azkaban. As for the search for Dumbledore, well that was something else. 

Dumbledore and Hogwarts were synonymous. Dumbledore and the highest authorities in Wizarding Britain had always been synonymous in Remus’ mind too. That Dumbledore would become somehow unreachable had never even occurred to him. Even when Dumbledore had left the school – an event that still seemed to Remus as implausible as Sirius suddenly admitting a desperate longing for the passionate embrace of Severus Snape – he’d assumed they would be able to locate and make contact with him fairly quickly.

Remus Lupin was not a man prone to wading through the murky waters of conspiracy theories, but he was sorely tempted to believe in one now. It was like someone knew they would be looking for Dumbledore, so had arranged to get the Headmaster as out of the way as they could get him without doing something drastic, like killing him. 

Whispers at the back of The Hogs Head and information Remus had been able to gather by taking a brief trip back to Diagon Ally to have a little chat with Tom had told them that Dumbledore was out of the country on business with the International Confederation of Wizards; exactly where, no one seemed to know. The most obvious thing to do of course would be to send an owl, but there were just too many risks involved.

It wasn’t even a matter of being physically unable to leave the school to look for him either. Granted, thanks to Dumbledore’s decree that The Dementors couldn’t enter the grounds, Hogwarts was, somewhat ironically, the safest place Sirius could be; once past the ring of wraiths that patrolled the borders, he was free to move about as he pleased really, provided he wasn’t seen of course. That didn’t mean however that Sirius couldn’t leave if he so chose, there was nothing physically stopping him so long as he stayed in his animagus form. The trouble was that neither of them _wanted_ to leave. 

Not with Peter still living at the school. The thought of venturing very far with Peter in such proximity to Harry made both of their skins crawl. Then there was the fact that there was an enormous snake slithering through the pipe-work petrifying students. No, leaving Harry wasn’t an option. 

So they were stuck. Caught in a strange limbo of waiting. Hoping for Dumbledore’s return and living on a knife edge of indecision. There were times Remus was all too aware that Sirius was only keeping his word not to go after Peter again because of a single conversation between him and Harry. 

_“I’m glad you didn’t kill Peter.”_

_“He’d have deserved it.”_

_“I don’t think my Dad would have wanted his best friend to become a killer. Not for him.”_

It was true, James wouldn’t have wanted it, but at the same time Sirius’ grievance with Peter was not in James’ name alone. No Sirius had reason enough to hate Peter on his own behalf and a fair few others besides. Every one of his friends who said nothing when he was arrested and locked away without trial. The Ministry, for casting aside his rights and condemning him on the evidence of those not qualified or entitled to make judgements. Dumbledore, McGonagal, even Remus himself, who all knew Sirius so well and yet turned their backs with such ease. 

It was nothing short of a small miracle that Sirius’ hatred and ire were aimed entirely in one direction, and that Sirius had retained enough sanity not to become the creature he had been painted to be. How easily it could have happened. Stripped of his mind, his conscience and his humanity by the Dementors, left only with his pain and hate, Sirius Black could have become something so much worse than a Death Eater. He could have become a predator. A creature hell bent on rage and revenge; meting out his own justice to quell the demons in his head. 

With all that in mind, Remus found himself wondering if perhaps he was wrong to hold Sirius’ guilt and loyalty over his head as he was. Why not let him go? Why not let him tear that snivelling treacherous little rodent limb from limb? Because James wouldn’t have wanted it? James was dead. What about what Sirius wanted? 

Watching Sirius sleep. Watching the great black dog twitch, whimper and growl, legs scrabbling frantically against some unseen foe. Attacking? Being Attacked? Chasing or being chased? Remus couldn’t tell, but those sounds, the obvious distress, the fact that Sirius would rather spend most of his time in his animagus form because such night terrors were somehow better than that which would haunt his human mind made Remus wonder. What if? What if it would bring Sirius some kind of peace? What if letting Sirius kill Peter would vanquish whatever monster pursued him through his dreams?

Or was it his own anger, hate and guilt talking? His own broken heart. More than James and Lily, Peter Pettigrew had destroyed Sirius’ life, Harry’s life, and his own life. James and Lily were gone, were hopefully if such a place existed, in a peaceful and joyous beyond, watching and waiting with those they loved for those left behind to join them. He, Sirius and Harry though, they were the ones who had to stumble on. Harry, growing up without knowing the love and comfort of his real parents, Sirius wasting and rotting in a living hell. And for himself? Years of a shadow life. Of starvation and pain and loneliness, of scratching his way through day after endless day without hope, without real purpose. 

If he let himself think about it, he could almost see _himself_ doing it, never mind Sirius. If he let himself imagine the life he had lost because of Peter. The love he’d allowed Peter to convince him was being betrayed. The home he’d walked out of believing the lies Peter had fed him. All that time. Wasted. Stripped away and stolen from him. From them all. 

But killing Peter could no more give him back those years, than it could give Harry back his parents, or erase the stain of Azkaban from Sirius’ wounded mind. Nor could it relieve him of his burden of guilt. Because he was guilty. Guilty of abandoning Sirius. Of turning his back on him. He knew why he had, he could remember with gut clenching clarity the thoughts and emotions that had nearly consumed him in the wake of the Potters’ deaths. But in the end, he’d been wrong. They’d all been so very wrong and killing Peter would not put that right.

The only way to do that was to clear Sirius’ name. However long it took. No matter what abuse Sirius threw at him in the worst of his fits of rage. No matter how many nightmares he had to listen to. And in clearing Sirius’ name, the way would be cleared for the real villain, the one truly responsible for the deaths of James, Lily, those Muggles and who knew how many others to be brought to justice. 

Getting up from the couch, Remus crossed the small space of the cabin and crouched down next to where Sirius lay near the fire, body jerking and pained sounds escaping every so often. It was a risk, but it wasn’t like he could pass on his lycanthropy by _being_ bitten. And it wasn’t like he was afraid of a little pain, a nip from Padfoot could hardly compare to some of the self inflicted wounds he’d suffered over the years. 

Reaching out a hand, he carefully lay it on Sirius' head, and when the canine didn’t immediately snarl himself awake and snap, he began to stroke him. Slow gentle strokes from head to tail, palm flat, open hand running over prominent ribs and matted fur. 

Whimpers subsided, the spasms calmed and eventually blurry blue eyes opened. 

Above all else, there was one reason to leave Peter alone for the time being and stay exactly where they were. 

“Sirius.”

Blue eyes blinked and sluggish sleep haze cleared. Remus felt a smirk twitch his lips. 

“Up. It’s almost invasion time.”

~HpɸqH~

 

As much as it annoyed Ron, he wasn’t entirely surprised that Harry had decided to give Black the benefit of the doubt, nor was he all that surprised when Harry insisted on going back to the hut night after night to visit. He supposed that if he was like Harry - having no parents and growing up with a horrible aunt and uncle - and all of a sudden a man his parents had considered close enough to name his godfather turned up out of the blue, then he probably wouldn’t care that the man was a mass murdering psycho either.

Not that Black really behaved like a mass murdering psychopath. Not once had he done anything any more alarming or disturbing than most of the adults he knew did. 

It was all so confusing. Sirius Black was a _Black_ , and _everyone knew_ about the Blacks. _Everyone knew_ Dark Wizards came from Slytherin too. Ron had grown up with that knowledge; it was like one of those facts that just were. Like how the sky was Blue, and water was wet. And yet, this Black had been in Gryffindor, and so had Rat-man. Of course he’d known Pettigrew had been a Gryffindor, but no-one had ever said anything about Black being one. Now no matter which way it spun out, a Gryffindor had sold Harry’s parents out to _you-know-who_. A Gryffindor had been a Dark Wizard.

Then there was how Black said he’d never had a trial, and was sent to Azkaban unfairly. 

But the Ministry just _wouldn’t_ do that. Ron couldn’t really articulate what the Ministry of Magic represented for him; he’d always been so inordinately proud that his Dad worked for the Ministry. Working for the Ministry meant his Dad was doing good things, helping people and looking after people and making sure everything worked properly, because that’s what the Ministry _did_. Working for the Ministry was important and right. So Black couldn’t be right, he had to be lying, because if the Ministry could do what Black said they’d done to him, it made the Ministry something rotten and bad. That couldn’t be true, and yet there seemed to be no evidence at all that a trial ever happened. Well evidence that Hermione could find at any rate.

It was almost physically painful, like it would tear everything he knew to pieces, but Ron had to admit that it increasingly looked like Hermione’s theory about Black was right. Every story Ron had ever heard about Sirius Black, and he’d heard a lot, said he was one of you-know-who’s most loyal followers, but a loyal follower of you-know-who wouldn’t be worried about the Muggleborns in the school with the whole Heir of Slytherin thing, and Dumbledore being gone. No, they’d be like Malfoy, strutting around all smug and celebratory. One of you-know-who’s followers wouldn’t hate Snape either. All the slimy gits _loved_ Snape and Black most definitely hated him. And one of you-know-who’s most loyal certainly wouldn’t voluntarily help a group of second year Hogwarts students, who among them counted a muggle-born and a half-blood, with their transfiguration homework. 

Still, Ron wasn’t ready to believe like Harry and Hermione did, not just yet. So that’s why he went along every night. Someone had to be the voice of reason, and Merlin knew it wasn’t Hermione. Oh no, she was certainly not the voice of reason when it came to Black. She was worse with him than she was with Lockhart. Just because Black had apparently saved her from the Basilisk she now looked at him like some kind of great hero; some kind of great hero who’d been grievously wronged by a cruel world. 

And then there was Lupin. Ron didn’t know what to make of the second fugitive currently hiding in Hagrid’s home other than the fact that he was clearly very smart. Hermione smart, and like Black, in dire need of a bath and some new clothes.

Rolling his eyes to himself, Ron followed Harry and Hermione the last few steps into Hagrid’s hut. From the outside it looked every bit as unoccupied as it should be. No light seeped from behind the closed shutters, no smoke appeared to rise from the chimney. But Ron knew from the experience of the last few nights that once inside it would be a different story. The main room would be lit with the glow of lamps and a cheerful fire would be warming the hearth. Nevertheless it was always a bit disconcerting when they knocked on the door and it opened to reveal only darkness within, and yet once they stepped over the threshold and through the charms affecting the exterior of the tiny cottage, they would find themselves bathed in welcoming light. It was also disconcerting that Black was always behind the door, ready to close it once they’d passed through. 

The click of the latch was the cue, and as one the trio began to untangle themselves from the cloak, Harry instantly turning to give the two adults in the room a cautious smile. “Hi.”

“Hello Mr Lupin! Mr Black.” Hermione wasn’t nearly so cautious. Grabbing the bags both Ron and Harry were carrying, she moved instantly to the table in the middle of the room and dropped them on the surface along with her own bag. “We brought food. Sorry it isn’t much. We had hotpot tonight and we couldn’t exactly fill our pockets with that. But there’s bread rolls and fruit, and...”

“Thank you Hermione.” Lupin cut her off gently with a small smile. “That’s very kind of you.” Glancing around at the others, he offered them the same smile. “All of you. But really you shouldn’t go to so much trouble. Sirius and I can manage.”

“But... But you need to eat!” Hermione protested. 

“She’s right, we do.” Black grinned, walking over the table and snatching up an apple that had rolled out of one the bags. Taking a hearty bite, he cast a meaningful look at Lupin and winked at Hermione. “Hmmmm.”

Lupin frowned at Black then turned back to the others who had by now found themselves somewhere to sit around the table. “You three alright?”

Ron shrugged, “Another day, another disaster.”

“Disaster?” Lupin looked up in concern. 

“Not a real disaster.” Harry rushed to reassure, seeing the alarmed looks on the faces of the two adults. “Lockhart...”

“Ah.” Sirius subsided with a rueful shake of his head. As far Ron could tell, both Lupin and Black shared much the same opinion of Lockhart as most of the male population of the school. Which was the complete opposite of the opinion held by the majority of the female population. “So come on then, entertain us, what did Flopfart do this time?”

As Hermione scowled, Harry coughed, and Lupin shook his head with a sigh, Ron actually thought he might be prepared to forget anything and everything negative he’d ever thought about Sirius Black and herald him as the his new hero. He couldn’t wait to use that name in front of the twins. Hell he wished he was brave enough to use it to the man’s face. 

But even as Ron was basking in awe, Hermione was talking. “It wasn’t really his fault.”

Now it was Harry’s turn to sigh. “Hermione, he almost burned down the great hall.”

“He didn’t mean to. He was trying to cheer us all up.”

Ron caught Harry’s eye and they both groaned. “How exactly, would turning all the candles in the great hall into little flaming pixie things make any of us feel better?”

“I thought they were pretty.” Hermione huffed. 

“Until they started dripping hot wax and zooming around like fireworks.” Ron countered. 

“Or setting fire to the banners.” Harry added in. 

“I’m just glad someone thought to close all the bloody windows.” Ron sighed dramatically. “Can you imagine those bloody things lose everywhere? Hogwarts would have been ash in hours.”

“It wasn’t like he did it on purpose!” Hermione continued to protest. “Something went wrong. They were just supposed to dance a bit.”

“And that,” Black spoke up, “Is why the man is a f....”

“Sirius.” Lupin cautioned quickly. 

“...fool.” Black finished with a raised eyebrow at Lupin, as if challenging him to claim he’d been about to say anything else. 

Harry and Ron shared a smirk. Despite what Lupin might believe, they were well aware of the scolding looks he’d been casting Black every time the escaped convict had sworn in front of them, and somehow Sirius’ attempts to curb his more colourful language were more amusing than some of the language itself. On the other hand, Ron couldn’t wait for the right opportunity to use some of the more extravagant expressions Black had used to describe Snape, preferably on the Twins. Best not to let Ginny hear though; she’d only tattle to their Mum.

“Well I think you’re all just ghastly to ridicule someone who is only trying to help.” Hermione huffed a little petulantly, folding her arms across her chest. 

“You’re right Hermione.” Lupin agreed smoothly, with a sage nod. Black looked to Ron and Harry and rolled his eyes, which made the two boys grin. 

“So other than Defence against the useless Professor, what else have you three been up to today?” Sirius asked to break the slightly awkward silence that had descended.

“Nothing special.” Harry shrugged. “Professor Sprout stood in as cover for our Transfiguration lesson today. She showed us how to turn paper scissors into pruning shears which was fun until Neville almost took one of his fingers off and had to be taken to see Pomfrey.”

“Might have been fun for you.” Ron harrumphed, “You didn’t have her constantly asking you about your little sister.”

“I don’t think one question counts as an inquisition Ronald.” Hermione defended the Herbology professor. “And you should be grateful that the professors are looking out for Ginny. You’d be the first one to complain if there was something wrong with her and no one said anything.”

“Hermione has a point.” Harry agreed. 

“ _Is_ everything alright with your sister?” Lupin asked with an edge of caution, not wishing to get his head bitten off by the defensive redhead.

“She’s _FINE_.” Ron blurted impatiently. 

“She has been a little...” Hermione frowned, clearly struggling with how to best articulate her thoughts. “I don’t know... vague, lately. Professor Sprout wasn’t the only one to notice you know. Professor Burbage asked a couple of us to keep an eye on her. Keep an ear out in case she’s being bullied or something.”

“And is she?” Lupin pressed with a frown, making Ron wonder exactly what it was Lupin thought he could do about it if she was. Or why he’d want to for that matter. He and the twins on the other hand. Well, she might be annoying, girly, bratty and a snitch, but she was _their_ sister. Picking on her was their job. 

“Not that I’ve seen.” Hermione shrugged. “Although I heard a couple of her dorm mates talking about her sleep walking.”

“Ginny doesn’t sleep walk.” Ron scowled, unsure if he should be insulted at the suggestion on his sister’s behalf or not.

Hermione shrugged again. “That’s what they were saying. They were talking about it in the bathrooms yesterday.”

“Bloody girls. Have you lot got nothing better to do than gossip in the loos?” Ron snarked. 

“Well Sor-ry!” Hermione snapped back. “Anyone would have thought you’d be grateful I was looking out for your sister.” 

Across the table Black snorted and turned to look at Lupin who appeared to be smothering a smirk. “Fifth year.” He said apparently out of no-where. 

Lupin seemed to have no trouble understanding, his expression turning thoughtful for a moment before he shook his head. “Sixth.”

“five sickles?” Black threw back with a grin. 

“Done.” Lupin replied, holding out his hand, which Black took and shook. 

On finding themselves the focus of three identical confused and slightly put out looks, the two adults assumed disconcertingly innocent expressions. 

“What?” Ron growled. 

“Nothing.” Black just shook his head, clearly amused. 

“I have a feeling we don’t want to know.” Harry spoke up cautiously. 

“Believe me Harry.” Sirius sighed dramatically, “By the time it’s all done with, you’ll find you know far more than you ever wanted to. Enjoy your ignorance while it lasts.”

~HpɸqH~

 

Sirius should have known his words would come back to haunt him. Ignorance was supposed to be bliss, just as he'd suggested to Harry. But it was ignorance that was driving Sirius to distraction now. His own ignorance. Or more importantly, the fact that Remus insisted on keeping him in ignorance.

With days of tedious waiting where every minute felt like an hour, trapped in Hagrid's hut with nothing to do but sleep and slowly drive each other crazy, and evenings spent in the company of youngsters where hours felt like minutes, one week had turned to two and onwards. Sirius knew the effort to always keep it together while Harry was visiting made him trying to deal with during the day. He knew Remus still didn't really trust him. He believed him, in his version of events, but he didn't trust him. 

But as the run up to the full moon approached, he'd never thought Remus would shut him out completely. Once, so long ago it sometimes felt more like an old movie he'd watched than a part of his life, his helping Remus through the trial of the moon would never be in question. Now though, as the moon grew fat, Remus drew away from him. Refused to talk to him. 

Adamantly refused to disclose his plans. Where he was going, or how he planned to keep himself and others safe. Old worries crawled at that back of Sirius' mind, but he quickly threw them off. Wormtail's insidious whispers would not turn his head again. They should never have made him believe what he had about Remus in the first place. 

He'd known that for a long time that Remus had never been their spy, but it wasn't until he'd heard from Remus' own lips the truth about his disappearances, about his injuries and secrecy, that the final doubts had been laid to rest. 

So no, he wasn't worried as he once was that Remus was letting his wolf run wild. Now his worries were much the same as they had been during their school days. When he'd been forced to wait, helpless, powerless, for the dawn to come and for the slow process of healing to begin. It was why they'd worked so hard to become animagi in the first place, to help Remus. To be with him, help distract the wolf and be right on hand in the aftermath. 

Being an animagus had helped with pranks, had helped him sneak and snoop as an Auror, had ultimately been what had enabled him to escape Azkaban and the ability to shut off part of his human mind even for a little while was the only reason he was anywhere near sane, but it wasn't the _reason_. It wasn't _why_. Remus was _why_. And no matter what else had changed, _that_ hadn't. 

But Remus didn't want him there. Remus didn't want him to have anything to do with the wolf. He said it was because the wolf wouldn't remember. He said it was because the wolf was different now, and it wasn't safe. He said it was better if he went alone. 

He said. 

Sirius didn't believe. 

Wouldn't believe. 

They'd argued. They'd fought. Remus insisted Sirius remain at the hut to meet Harry as normal. Instead Sirius told Harry they wouldn't be there for a couple of days, and to come back after. He'd lied. Said they might have a way to contact Dumbledore. Remus hadn't liked him lying to Harry almost as much as he didn't want Sirius with him for the moon. 

Sirius hadn't liked lying to Harry either. But Remus wouldn't tell Harry about the wolf. How could he doubt Harry's reaction? James hadn't turned his back, why would Harry? Remus had looked at him long and hard when he'd said that, an odd expression on his face that Sirius couldn't decipher. 

It didn't matter. 

No, that wasn't right. It _did_ matter, but it wasn't his choice and Sirius understood that. Azkaban wasn't so isolated that he didn't know about the changes in the law that had taken effect after the end of the war. The cells of Azkaban were made fuller still by those were-wolves unable to cope with the restrictions placed upon them. It seemed to Sirius that it was only by the grace of the gods that Remus hadn't wound up his neighbour. Or worse. So no, it wasn't his decision. Remus had so little choice in so much of his life, only the direst need would make Sirius take this choice away from him. 

And by that logic, he knew he probably should respect Remus' wishes about the moon. He should. But he wasn't going to. Especially since Remus had apparently decided to try and make sure he wouldn't follow him, and had put a sleeping potion in his tea that afternoon. 

The sneaky, conniving, snake of a wolf. 

Sneaky, conniving, but clearly slipping wolf. Firstly, he'd only been knocked out for a few hours, and secondly, it wasn't like Sirius wouldn't be able to follow Remus' scent. 

Sprinting across the rain sodden grounds, paws kicking up mud and new spring grass, Remus' trail was a bright vibrant blaze through the damp and darkness. It couldn't be easier to follow, even as it meandered through the trees of the Forbidden Forest. 

The scent of acromantulas curled at the edges of his awareness, but thankfully Remus' path seemed to stay close to the edges of the woods, giving the dens of those giant arachnids a wide berth. If that damned demonic car was out there tonight, it was keeping its distance, as were the centaurs and other beasts. Not too surprising, they could probably smell the scent of a werewolf passing through their domain and were wisely choosing to steer clear. 

Eventually the trail broke free of the trees and Sirius slowed to a trot then cautious halt. He was beyond the borders of the school now. Another reason for how quiet the forest had been. Dementors prowled this area. 

He’d been picking up whimpers and mournful wails on the edges of hearing for some time now and in the clearing they were nearly all he could hear. This was definitely the place, and yet it was all wrong. The half collapsed cottage couldn't possibly hold Moony in check, and the noises were strange, distorted. Muted, pained, confused and _ill_?

Tentatively, Sirius crept forward, ears flat as the noises called to something instinctive inside of him that spoke of deep distress and sickness. 

Picking his way through the fallen timbers wasn't easy. It felt like the wooden floor would give way beneath his feet with every step. There was magic here. Lots of it. It crackled in the air. He could taste it, smell it, and through his canine nose, see it. It wove its way across the floor like sparkling ribbons, not there in full sight, but only out of the corner of the eye. 

Another deeper wail split the air. A thud from beneath him. Hurrying his step, Sirius tried to find a way down to what lay below, but Remus' scent was thick here, and overlaid by the cloying aroma of wolf. Deep, darker, more visceral than how Remus usually smelled, and yet very much the same. 

Eventually he found it. A hatch, clearly shored up with wood taken from the ruins of the cottage, and surrounded by numerous charms, wards and magical barriers. Beyond the door he heard a crash, another whimper and a cry so distressed and jumbled it made Sirius scrabble at the hatch unthinkingly; paws and claws making not a mark on the well protected surface. On the other side an answering scratching, slow, sluggish and uncoordinated. 

Moony was down there. Moony was trying to get out. Or at least trying to reach him, but it didn't have the aggressive feel that Sirius remembered. Even in play and affection Moony had always been dangerous. What waited on the other side of the door didn't sound dangerous. It sounded...  
… _pathetic_. Not how Moony should sound at all. Was Moony sick? Injured somehow? Could werewolves even get sick?

More than anything Sirius wanted to change back and remove the wards barring his way, but even without the threat of being seen by the Dementors, he had no wand, and wasn't stupid enough to face a werewolf out of his animagus form. So he could do nothing. Only lie down, his muzzle to the hatch, aware that just inches from him, Moony lay collapsed and confused. Somehow weakened and unwell. And completely outside of Sirius' power to help. 

Time crawled. The moon dragging itself through the early spring night, dipping in and out behind the clouds. It rained. Moony grew quiet. The air turned frigid. 

Hunkered down over the hatch Sirius whined quietly as he waited.

~HpɸqH~

 

Remus woke choking, the burn of bile in his throat, retching spasms heaving him into consciousness. It was almost more effort than he could manage to move his face away from the acrid puddle that now stained the cellar floor, but with a groan he managed to roll onto his back.

Everything hurt. It always hurt. Pain was inescapable, inevitable and all consuming when the moon came, but even through the dense fog clouding his mind Remus could tell that there were no wounds this time. Just the burning ache, dulled like his mind. 

Clearly the moon had set and the dawn had come, but right now Remus couldn't gather the wherewithal to be relieved or feel much of anything other than the ache, nausea and disconnection. His most pressing concern, the only concern that could break through the desperate desire to curl into a ball and return to oblivion was the need for water. To sooth his parched and cracked lips, and wash the acid burn of vomit from his mouth. 

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Remus knew he should move. The wards lifted with the rising of the sun; something he'd set up after learning the hard way what could happen if he didn't have the strength to release them himself. But it felt like too much effort to even try. 

Another retch prompted him to roll onto his other side having no desire to choke and suffocate on his own vomit. The glassy sound of a bottle rolling and colliding with another followed the movement. Vomit was a very definite part of his immediate future.  
“Are you awake?”

The sound of those words sliced through Remus like a blade; first literally, and then once the agonising pain in his head receded enough to allow actual thought, in a far more metaphorical sense. 

Sirius. 

The voice was unmistakable. The tone of feigned nonchalance ringing with the memory of times long past. It was a tone that Remus knew well, but one that he alone now would know Sirius well enough to recognise. 

He didn’t want to, but the voice compelled him. With a grunt, Remus opened his eyes and met a sight that was straight out of memory. If he could ignore the ragged clothes and straggly beard. Sirius sat sprawled on the steps down into the cellar, feet planted wide apart, knees bent, one elbow resting back on a step while in his other hand rested what was clearly even in the dim dawn light filtering through the hatch, a small brown glass bottle. 

“Wasn’t sure how long you’d sleep.” Sirius continued absently, his gaze never leaving the bottle. “Can’t understand most of the gibberish on this thing, but I get the basic idea. Muggle pills and Fire-Whisky. Nice combination.”

“It works.” Remus croaked defensively, feeling anger rise up to meet the nausea and brain fog. 

Sirius finally looked away from the bottle and Remus found himself looking into piercing ice blue; eyes more lucid and clear than he’d seen them since their reunion. No shadows. No flicker of madness. Just the burning brightness of his memories, filled with intelligence, danger and the indefinable something else that had once sent shivers from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. 

He could read these eyes, but before he could read them properly, another wave of nausea broke and Remus, spurred by instinct more than will, found himself on his hands and knees, limbs shaking as his body rebelled against the cocktail he’d poured into it the night before. 

It seemed like forever. Pain and churning guts and expelled fluids. Complete and utter humiliation at this most devastatingly obvious evidence of how low his life had sunk. 

Then there was a hand. Gentle, calming, soothing. Stroking his hair as an arm wrapped around his shoulders and soft murmurs filled his ears.

“I’m sorry Moony. So sorry. This shouldn’t have happened. Not to us, not to you of all people. I’ll put it right Moony. I swear I’ll put it right. You, me, Harry. We’ll make it right again I promise.”


	13. Her

“Nother One! Th’s’Bin ‘Nother one!”

Minerva McGonagall looked up sharply from the work on her desk at the clattering slap of feet and distinctive yelling as it approached her door at speed. Barely had she done so, when the door in question burst open and revealed the perpetually dishevelled and unwashed figure of Argus Filch.  
Leaping to her feet, she set her hands on her hips and scowled. “Mr Filch! Whatever is the meaning of this disgraceful commotion?”

Panting heavily, having apparently run some distance, Filch leant against the door frame and used his free hand to gesticulate wildly. “The Chamber Headmistress... s’happened again. ”

“Another attack?!” Minerva snapped worriedly, moving out from behind her desk. 

“s’a message Headmistress. I fink its worse thi’time.”

“Show me.”

~HpɸqH~

Curfew and the current rules about wandering the halls had an unexpected and not unhelpful side effect. Well at least Hermione liked to think so. The halls were empty; even the prefects had to abide by the rules, after what happened to Sir Nicholas the ghosts tried to avoid venturing far from the great hall and the teachers were so busy trying to keep the penned up students from going stir crazy they rarely seemed to patrol. Their nightly journey back from Hagrid’s hut was actually pretty easy.

In fact they’d become so accustomed to the ease with which they could currently navigate the school, that they’d taken to shedding Harry’s cloak and making their way undisguised. Of course they used it outside, on the grand staircase and kept it close at hand for emergencies, but for the most part it remained scrunched up under Harry’s arm.

This of course pleased Hermione for many reasons. Not least of which was that travelling anywhere with Harry and Ron under that cloak for any length of time resulted in a fair amount of bruising and a familiarity with the way both boys smelled that Hermione wasn’t entirely comfortable with. 

So yes it was a bit of a risk, but it was so worth it to have the freedom to walk down the corridor without Ron’s elbow in her ribs and her nose banging into the back of Harry’s head. 

Not that she was entirely relishing this fact at the moment. Instead her attention was otherwise occupied, her thoughts squarely back in Hagrid’s hut. Tonight had been the first time they’d been down to see Black and Lupin in three days; Harry had said something about Sirius saying they had a lead on Dumbledore. Only it was clear they hadn’t found the Headmaster, and more than that, when Hermione had asked them how they’d got on, neither seemed to understand for a moment what she was talking about. Now Hermione would admit she was no expert at telling when people were lying, well unless those people were Ron and Harry, but nevertheless she was convinced the story about looking for Dumbledore was a red herring. 

Then there was Mr Lupin. The way he’d looked and sounded. The way he remained practically slumped in Hagrid’s armchair the entire time they’d been there, where as usually he would be up and around, or would at least join them at the table. He’d slurred his words a bit, seemed vacant, absent minded and unfocussed. In short he seemed to be unwell. Really unwell. 

Black had seemed torn too. Torn between focussing his attention on Harry, and hovering around Lupin like some kind of overbearing mother hen. She didn’t like it. She never liked not knowing what was going on, but this niggled her more than that. She didn’t like the thought of Mr Lupin being ill, and liked the suspicion he’d been hurt somehow even less. She hadn’t missed how covered in scars he was. For a moment she entertained the thought that perhaps he and Black had gone up against the Basilisk, but then she dismissed it. If they had, they’d be petrified or worse, not groggy and sickly looking. And Black didn’t seem to be hurt at all. Worried, but not hurt. 

“You alright Hermione?”

“What?” Hermione blinked out of her thoughts to find Harry and Ron looking at her curiously.

“Ron asked if you were alright.” Harry repeated, a slight chuckle in his voice. “You were miles away.”

“Sorry.” Hermione shrugged. “I was just thinking... no its nothing. Never mind.”

Ron groaned. “Right, like you ever think about nothing. Go on, what’s going on in that crazy head of yours?”

“I’m not crazy.” Hermione huffed. “But as you asked, I was thinking about Mr Lupin.”

“What about him?” Harry asked with a frown. 

“Well, didn’t you... I mean do you think...” Hermione huffed again and slapped her arms down by her sides in vague frustration as she struggled to articulate her thoughts.

Luckily for her, Harry just nodded. “There’s something wrong with him. I noticed too.”

“Noticed what?” Ron looked between the pair in confusion. 

Hermione opened her mouth to express her general opinion of Ron’s lack of observational skills, but another voice cut across hers. A loud yet highly familiar voice echoing around the stone halls. 

_“All students are to return to their house dormitories at once. All teachers to the second floor corridor immediately.”_

Looking between her two companions, Hermione knew instantly what they should be doing, and also exactly what they would be doing instead. As they took off down the corridor, she absently wondered when it was that she’d decided rules were really more like a guidelines when the circumstances called for it.

~HpɸqH~

Minerva waited, eyes fixed on the bloody script scrawled across the wall as the corridor rang with the sound of many hurried steps. Tall, dark and imposing, Severus Snape was the first to reach her side. Turning to look at him, she caught the moment the severity of the situation hit. She saw the surprise, the shock and the horror flash across his features before being quickly forced back behind the mask of sneering cool that he was so famous for.

More and more members of staff were gathering, not quite all yet, but most. Gasps of surprise and shock, mutters and murmurs of confusion. Worried words whispering all around her. She had to say something. Bring them all back to focus. Something had to be done, something sensible and responsible. She was acting Headmistress. She had a job to do.

~HpɸqH~

There were just too many teachers and other staff gathered around for the trio to get close. Tucked into a small alcove out of sight but not so far they couldn’t hear the loudest of the conversations bouncing between the adults present, Hermione, Ron and Harry struggled to see exactly what it was that had elicited McGonagall’s summons.

“As you can see, the Heir of Slytherin has left another message.” McGonagall spoke as the crowd of staff gathered in close. “Our worst fear has been realised. A student has been taken by the monster, into the Chamber itself.”

In their alcove, the trio looked at each other in alarm, before Hermione frowned.That couldn’t be right. A Basilisk was powerful, deadly, the worst kind of magical beast, but at the end of the day it was what it was. A huge great snake with a killer stare. It could kill, it could petrify, but she somehow doubted it could to take and carry anything or anyone _anywhere_. She was prevented from expressing this thought to the others however, as McGonagall was still talking. Her words ominous and the last thing Hermione ever wanted to hear. 

“The students must be sent home.” She continued, her voice laden with distress. “I’m afraid this is the end of Hogwarts.”

Wide eyed Hermione snapped round to look once more at her companions.

“They can’t close the school!” She hissed in a whisper. 

“Priorities Hermione.” Harry whispered back. “Someone’s been taken!”

“I know that!” Hermione snapped in return. “What can we do?”

The other two looked about as lost as she felt.

~HpɸqH~

The heads of houses had all gone to find the nearest fireplaces to contact their prefects and make headcounts. Severus had already returned with the news his house was all accounted for. Not entirely surprising. Why would the Heir of Slytherin attack his own house after all?

No it was news from the other houses that she was anxiously awaiting. From her own house. Acting Headmistress she might be, but that didn’t mean the ties of affection and responsibility that bound her to Gryffindor as its head of house had been severed. Quite the contrary. She felt them all the more keenly with the separation. 

“No one missing from Ravenclaw Minerva.” A squeaky voice from below broke her thoughts and Minerva looked down into the tense but resolute face of Filius Flitwick, his eyes red rimmed but his mouth set in a grim line. They’d often joked about the fact that the both of them had debated with the sorting hat prior to their sorting, both of them being given the same options when it came to their houses. While Flitwick had ultimately ended up in Ravenclaw, and she Gryffindor, Minerva could well see in this moment the lion behind the raptor sharp mind. Not for the first time she was glad of his presence. 

As she was for the presence of all her heads of houses. Severus, Filius, Pomona and yes even dear sweet Charity. Thinking of the ladies in question, Pomona bustled up with her usual no nonsense stride, Charity shakily following behind. 

Minerva didn’t need to hear the words, but she let them wash over her none the less. 

“All present and correct, thank Merlin.” Sprout barked out. 

Looking up, Minerva met the gaze of the acting head of Gryffindor. “Charity?”

“Four missing.” Charity Burbage winced as she spoke. 

“No prizes for guessing three of them.” Snape drawled behind her. 

“Not now Severus.” Minerva snapped back over her shoulder, casting a furious glare at her Deputy. Looking back at Charity she gestured for younger woman to continue.

~HpɸqH~

“What are they saying?”

“I don’t know.” Harry whispered back from where he was straining to overhear the teachers’ conversation. They were too far away and talking to quietly. The only person he’d been able to hear clearly was Snape, but what he’d said made little sense on its own. 

“I think they’ve done a headcount.” Hermione supplied, then she grimaced. “I think they know we aren’t in the dorm, but I’m sure Burbage said there were four missing.”

“So who’s the other one?” Ron asked in concern. “We know where the three of us are.”

“Shhh.” Harry suddenly snapped, grabbing the other two and pulling them deeper into the alcove. “Someone’s coming.” 

In the shadow’s the three waited with breaths held as footsteps approached and passed right by. Next to him he felt Hermione sag. 

“Terribly sorry.” The meticulously coiffured professor announced himself amiably. “Dozed off. What have I missed?”

Lockhart. 

Hermione’s grip on Harry’s arm tightened, and as he looked over at her, she smiled. “He’ll know what to do Harry.”

Looking back at the man who’d managed to unleash nothing but chaos around the school for the last two terms, Harry wasn’t convinced.

~HpɸqH~

Minerva McGonagall had long respected Albus Dumbledore. She’d often wondered at some of the decisions he’d made, but ultimately the man’s wisdom had always prevailed. As his Deputy it wasn’t just a privileged of position but her responsibility to question and debate his choices when it came to the running of the school. The position of Headmaster did not make someone infallible after all.

There were only two issues however, that had given Minerva continued concern. The first being the placement of Harry Potter with the Dursleys. Not exactly a school issue until recently, but definitely an event that left her with a terrible doubt in her mind. 

The second was the hiring of Gilderoy Lockhart. Unlike many, Minerva McGonagall was not taken in by the flashy clothes, the immaculate smile or the man’s seemingly endless list of accomplishments. She’d worked in education long enough to know that people did change as they grew older. She knew that troublesome youths could become settled and productive adults. That quiet and introverted children could grow into outgoing and gregarious extroverts. That the studious could become lazy and the lazy hardworking. She’d seen evidence of all such metamorphoses. 

What she had yet to see was a barely average student who although they excelled at theory, had not the latent talent to become expert in any field of magic, suddenly transform into a wizard of immense power and capability. 

She remembered Gilderoy Lockhart the student. She remembered and what she remembered did not match the man who had just strutted up to her in the middle of a crisis as calm and blasé as a someone re-entering a dinner party conversation having just visited the lavatory. 

The man was a braggart. A fraud. A charlatan. All bluster and hot air. As an old friend of hers was known to say; all mouth and no trousers. Whatever Albus was trying to achieve in hiring him she didn’t know, although she secretly hoped his intention had been to expose the man for the sham artist he was. Even if that had been his intention, she wasn’t convinced that such a petty achievement should come at the expense of the children’s education and the school’s reputation. She’d expressed her concerns, and while Albus had remained evasive as to his motives, she’d argued that very point to the Headmaster ad nauseum. Nevertheless, hire him Albus had, and now she had to deal with him. 

And his bluster. 

Turning an icy glare on the man who stood in the place of a competent DADA professor, in the place of someone who might actually have been able to help them, and the poor girl who had been taken, she resisted the urge to sneer.

She had no need to speak however. Severus, she knew, was equally unimpressed by the prancing peacock that held the position the potions master had once so coveted, and his derisive tone said more eloquently what they both felt than any words that were currently on the tip of the acting Headmistress’ tongue. 

“A girl has been snatched by the monster Lockhart. Your moment has come at last.”

Inside Minerva felt a shrill of vindication as fear flickered in Lockhart’s eyes. “M-my m-moment?”

“Weren’t you saying just last night,” Severus continued to drawl dryly, “that you’ve known all along where the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets is?”

There was a moment of silence. Minerva saw her chance and when Lockhart continued to stare dumbfounded at Severus, she took it. “That’s settled. We’ll leave you to deal with the monster Gilderoy. Your skills after all _are legend_.”

Another beat. Then the fake smile, and fake confidence and fake reassurance. “Very well... ahh... I’ll just be in my office getting... err... Getting ready.”

As Lockhart turned and strode away, Minerva let her shoulders drop and the worry resettle. Gilderoy was no longer her concern. She knew his type. If he was still in the building in an hour’s time she’d eat her hat.

~HpɸqH~

“McGonagall’s gone mental.” Ron exclaimed quietly. “She can’t mean to...”

“Why wouldn’t she?” Hermione interrupted. “If anyone can help whoever’s been taken to the Chamber, Professor Lockhart can. He’s a hero. Besides, didn’t you hear? He knows where the entrance to the Chamber is! God, I can’t believe you Ronald, are you so jealous you’d let someone die...”

“Guys!”Harry interrupted as his two friends hissed at each other. “Stop it. Look the teachers are leaving.”

“They’re coming this way!” Ron squeaked. “If we’re caught we’ll be in detention until we finish our NEWTs!”

“So be quiet then!” Hermione snapped, shoving Ron into the alcove and squeezing in beside him. 

Just in time too. Once again holding their breaths, the trio waited as the procession of teachers passed by their hiding spot. Fierce and gloomy expressions worn by all. 

“Who is it the monster’s taken Minerva?” They heard Madame Pomfrey ask as she and McGonagall walked in and out of view. 

“There are only four students unaccounted for” Their former head of house sighed in reply. “Harry Potter, Hermione Granger and the two youngest Weasleys.”

“The message said...” Pomfrey gaspsed. 

“Yes.” McGonagall agreed, “ _Her_ skeleton will lie in the Chamber forever. Until either Miss Granger or young Ginny Wealsey surfaces, I’m afraid I can’t be certain which is our victim and which is merely somewhere they oughtn’t to be.” 

He only held it in long enough for the last of the teachers to move away from their hiding spot. The words echoed round his head. 

_Her Skeleton will lie in the Chamber forever._

“Ginny.”

His knees gave. He was vaguely aware of Hermione letting out a startled yelp as he crumpled and the motion pushed her out of their hiding space, but he couldn’t really think about it right now. 

_Her Skeleton will lie in the Chamber forever_.

Not Ginny. It didn’t matter how many times he’d fervently wished she’d just disappear in a puff of smoke, or simply hadn’t existed to begin with, he never really meant it. Not really. He’d never wanted this. He never wanted her to end up a snack for a ruddy great snake. Never wanted her to be a skeleton in some dark place hidden under the castle. 

Merlin, his Mum and Dad would be devastated. It would kill them. He wasn’t sure it wouldn’t kill him. 

“Ron! Ron! Come on snap out of it!” 

Harry’s voice. Harry’s hand pulling on his arm. 

He looked up, “The monster has Ginny.”

He couldn’t think of anything else to say. 

“We know Ron. Come on. We have to see Lockhart.” Harry pulled on his arm again, managing this time to haul him to his feet. 

“How is that going to help!?” Ron exclaimed as panic broke through.

“Ron stop it!” Hermione barked angrily. “We need to tell Lockhart what we know about the Chamber and the Monster. Then he’ll be able to get her out!”

“What we know? What we know?!” Hysteria crept into Ron’s voice as he rounded on Hermione. “We don’t know anything! And Lockhart isn’t going to find Ginny! He couldn’t find his bum with both hands!”

“Hermione’s right.” Harry broke in, catching hold of Hermione and encouraging them both to hurry along the corridor with him. “Lockhart may be useless, but he’s going to try and get into the Chamber. We know about the Basilisk, he can go in prepared. And besides, remember what Aragog said about the girl who died fifty years ago?”

At the impatient glare from Hermione and clueless look from Ron, Harry groaned. “She died in a bathroom.” Again nothing. “Well, what if she never left?”

“Moaning Murtle!” Hermione burst out, then she slapped Harry’s arm, hard. 

“Ow!” Harry yelped. “What did you do that for?”

“For not telling me what Aragog said we could have had this worked out weeks ago!”

“I forgot alright!” Harry defended himself. Having reached a set of stairs, he took them two at a time, looking back at Hermione and Ron only sparingly. “With everything with Sirius and Pettigrew I...”

“Right.” Hermione backed down, charging passed Harry and slamming through the next door. “Sorry. I guess you did have other things on your mind.”

“Hang on.” Ron panted from behind them. “You mean to say you think the entrance to the Chamber is in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom?”

“Makes about as much sense as anything.” Harry shrugged. 

“The water on the floor, the fact the Basilisk gets around in the pipes. And no-one’s ever said how Moaning Myrtle actually died. Strange place for a student to die really. In a bathroom.”

“Unless you’re Elvis.” Harry joked. 

“Who?” Ron shook his head with a frown.

“He’s... never mind. Bad joke.” Harry shook his head and made for the stairs up to the Defence against the Dark arts classroom. “We need to tell Lockhart, and then he can ask Myrtle himself.”

“What if we’re wrong?” Ron questioned worriedly. “That monster has my sister.”

“Then I guess we’ll just have to hope Lockhart really does know where the entrance is.”

“Of course he’ll know.” Hermione scolded. “Now come on!”

Compared to how the DADA classroom had looked for most of the year, practically packed with portraits and photographs of Lockhart, it now looked decidedly empty as they raced between the desks towards the office at the far end. 

“Professor Lockhart!” Hermione yelled as they climbed the curved stairs up to the office. “Professor Lockhart!”

“Professor! We have some information for you!” Harry joined the yelling as the pair of them barged through the door. 

Behind them Ron skidded to a halt as he crossed the threshold, almost running into the Hermione and Harry’s frozen backs. Blinking he looked around, confused for a moment why his friends had gone silent, then realisation kicked in. Bags, boxes, crates. Everything that should have been out in the classroom was crammed into the small office and was clearly in the process of being packed by the rather harried looking professor on the other side of the room. 

Even as they watched him he continued to cram belongings into any available space, his haste taking precedence over the interruption. 

“Are you going somewhere?” Harry finally asked, incredulity and anger lacing his voice. 

“Ah.ah...Well err, yes...” Lockhart stumbled ungracefully, “Urgent call... unavoidable.” Lockhart shrugged and made a gesture that seemed to imply an ‘oh well, never mind’ attitude. “Gotta go.”

Ron couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He’d been right. He’d been absolutely bloody right. Lockhart was useless, and McGonagall had put him in charge of getting Ginny back! “What about my sister!?!”

“Well... ahh... as to that, most unfortunate...” Lockhart threw out like the words could possibly have any meaning or solace. “No one regrets more than I.”

Anger. Real burning anger welled up in Ron. Striding to the desk, his face crumpled into a fierce scowl. “You’re the defence against the dark arts teacher! You can’t go now!”

“Well I must say, “ Lockhart threw back with irritation as he picked up his bag and moved out from behind his desk, “there was nothing in the job description...”

Clearly Ron wasn’t the only one not willing to let this slide. Harry blocked his path. “You’re running away?!”

“What about all those things you did in your books? You’re supposed to be a hero!” Hermione exclaimed, pushing herself into the space between Ron and Harry. 

“Books can be misleading.” Lockhart shot back absently, once against trying to muscle passed Harry. But Harry wasn’t budging, and neither it seemed was Hermione. Turning to look at her, Ron finally realised why she’d been so quiet up until now. Her face turned from pleading to disappointed and disillusioned in a heartbeat. Hurt. There were tears forming in her eyes. 

“But you wrote them!” Hermione accused pointing a finger, her voice choked. 

“My dear girl!” Lockhart flapped in exasperation. “Do use your common sense! My books wouldn’t have sold half as well if people didn’t think I’d done all those things!”

“You lied!” Hermione exclaimed with horrific realisation. “You lied about all those things... to make money!”

“You’re a fraud!” Harry joined in. “You’ve just been taking credit for what other wizards have done!”

Why this was a shock to Hermione and Harry, Ron had no clue. He just had one question. 

“Is there anything you _can_ do?” He bit out, tacking on _‘Other than keep your teeth sparkly and wear a wig that is_ ,’ In the privacy of his own head. 

“Yes.” Lockhart snapped snidely, his eyes narrowing. “I’m rather gifted with memory charms. Otherwise you see all those other wizards would have gone blabbing. And I’d never have sold another book. In fact ah...” Lockhart turned away, moving towards the back of the room again. “I’m ah... have to do the...”

“Immobilus!”

Ron blinked. He wasn’t slow. He wasn’t as dim witted as many thought. He’d worked out what Lockhart planned to do to them and he’d already caught Harry’s eye to see the same realisation there. It was just that, as always, Hermione was just that one split second faster on the uptake. 

“Great.” Ron huffed, “Nice one Hermione, now he’s frozen exactly how is he supposed to help us find Ginny?”

Hermione wasn’t listening. Her expression was one of complete betrayal, her lower lip quivering. “I respected him. He was supposed to be a hero and he’s just a... just a... Just a miserable lying cheating fraud!”

“Hermione...” Harry reached out, sympathy in his voice but worry in his expression as his hand edged nearer her outstretched wand. 

Jerking away from him, Hermione pocketed her wand, turned on her heel and made for the door. 

“Hey! Where are you going!?” Ron yelled after her. She couldn’t just run out on them now. They needed her. They were on their own and they had to find Ginny. “Hermione!”

“I’m going to find a real Hero!”

Spinning back to Harry, Ron looked at him in panic. “Now what are we going to do?”

Harry gave him a slightly desperate one shoulder shrug. “Try the counter curse?”

~HpɸqH~

In the end it took three tries to un-immobilize Lockhart, and duly cowed by the righteous anger (and in Ron’s case pure desperation) being directed at him by his two teenage guards, Lockhart had been directed towards Moaning Myrtles bathroom with only the slightest resistance.

Once in the bathroom however, there were two oh so teeny tiny hurdles to overcome, the first of which was currently floating somewhere near the ceiling moaning piteously. It wasn’t that Harry didn’t like Myrtle. That wasn’t to say he liked her either. He had no real feeling about her at all other than the fact that she made him all kinds of uncomfortable. 

He wasn’t stupid, her flirtations were hardly subtle. But the first problem with that was that she was a sixth year; when she let her feet touch the ground she was a good six inches taller than he was. The second problem was the moaning; she was by far the moaniest, whiniest, and most waspish girl Harry had ever met (and he included all Slytherins, his Aunt Petunia and the really bratty girl from number eleven with the pigtails and braces in that assessment). Finally the third and perhaps the most significant hindrance to any chance of a romantic match, was the fact that she was dead. 

So in short she was creepy. And really difficult to have any kind of civil conversation with. 

“Hello Harry.”

Harry winced. He’d actually forgotten about the giggle. Beside him he heard Ron stifle a snigger. 

“Hi... Myrtle.”

“What do you want?” Myrtle asked, head cocked to one side, her brow furrowing for a moment as she took in Harry’s companions. 

Now for the awkward part. Harry supposed there were some questions that simply defied any attempts to be asked tactfully. “I wanted to ask you...” He cringed, “How you died.”

“Oh.” Myrtle blinked at him for a second. Then she giggled, and finally she looked down, sad and forlorn. “It was dreadful.” She sniffed, although how a ghost could have a runny nose Harry had no idea. “It happened right here in this very bathroom.” She sniffed again, then blinked wetly. “I’d hidden because Olive Hornby was teasing me about my glasses. I was crying. Then I heard somebody come in.”  
“Who was it Myrtle?” Harry asked with a hint of desperate impatience. Behind him he could feel Ron fidgeting, his momentary mirth having dissipated as quickly as it had come. 

“I don’t know! I was distraught!” Myrtle snapped angrily, then made a hiccupping sound before going back to her previous sad expression as she floated closer. “But they said something funny, a kind of made up language And I realised it was a boy speaking so I unlocked the door to tell him to GO AWAY! And... I died.”

“Just like that?” Harry asked with a mixture of curiosity and disappointment. He’d been hoping for a little more to go on. “How?”

Myrtle shrugged, “I just remember seeing a pair of great big yellow eyes. Right there,” She pointed to one of the sinks in the centre of the room. “by that sink.”

Then with a moan and a flick of her pigtails she was gone, rapidly floating off to bob up and down above her favourite cubical. 

Glancing at Ron to make sure he still had Lockhart covered – it wasn’t like the fake professor knew Ron’s wand didn’t work after all – Harry moved cautiously over to the sink Myrtle had pointed out. It looked like any other sink. Rust and lime scale stains around the taps and overflow, tarnished mirror above, hair and what looked like a cake of pinky powder in the plughole. Sadly no little sign saying ‘press here to enter Chamber of Secrets’. 

Or maybe there was. Granted there were castings, carvings and engravings of the four house animals everywhere around the school, but it suddenly occurred to Harry that it was a little odd to find one on a tap in a bathroom that could be used by any house. Especially a snake, when if he wasn’t mistaken, this bathroom was actually closest to the Hufflepuff common-room. Surely a badger would be more in keeping? 

Reaching forward, Harry ran his fingers almost reverently over the side of the tap, feeling the ridges and curves of the snake cast into the metal. 

“This is it,” He nodded to himself. He was sure of it. Biting his lip, he stepped back. “I think this is the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets.”

But just because he’d found it, didn’t mean he knew how to get in. He’d tried the tap when he’d been examining the sink and that hadn’t worked; there was no little button, catch or switch as far as he could tell either. 

“Say something.” Ron suddenly urged, an expectant and excited edge to his voice. 

Turning to face his friend, Harry shot him a confused look. 

“Say something in Parseltongue.” Ron clarified. 

“I’m not sure how.” Harry countered apologetically. “It’s not like I’ve ever done it on purpose.”

“Just give it a try.” Ron prodded urgently.

“Alright...” Harry sighed, turning back to face the sink. Narrowing his eyes he concentrated on the snake. “Open?”

“English.” Ron shook his head. 

OK so that hadn’t worked. Harry looked again at the snake. The shape, the curves and scales. The way the dappled light of bathroom made it look like it was almost moving. The way the light glinted against the eye. 

“Heshhahhasssahh”

It still sounded like open to him, but the way Lockhart suddenly looked like he wanted to wet himself and Ron grimaced let Harry know it probably hadn’t been. The sudden sound of clanking and grating were also pretty indicative that he’d done something right. 

The sink was moving. They were all moving, the stand of sinks coming apart, the top rising up into the high ceiling and the sink with the snake embossed tap slowly dropping into the floor with the sound of stone grinding on stone until finally, with one more last metal clank, a hole was revealed in the floor. 

No, not a hole. A pipe. A pipe easily big enough for a man, or even a basilisk to move through. 

As the three of them stared down into the seemingly bottomless abyss, Lockhart let out a shaky exhalation. “phew... well, yes. Excellent Harry... ah... good work. Now if you’ll... there’s no need for me to...”

Lockhart bolted. Unfortunately for him he bolted right into Harry and Ron. 

“Oh yes there is.” Harry bit out as they shoved Lockhart back towards the hole. There was no way either of them were going to let Lockhart wiggle out of this. Hadn’t McGonagall been telling him all year that there were things that adults, that grownups like teachers should deal with that children should not? Well surely this was one of those things. 

“What good will it do?” Lockhart argued. 

Harry couldn’t think of an answer to that. Lockhart was useless and they all knew it. But then Ron spoke, his voice a pure sneer. “Better you than us.”

With two wands pointed at him Lockhart also seemed to see the logic in that statement. Turning carefully he peered down the hole. 

And that was when Ron poked him in the back with his wand, effectively shoving him down the hole.  
Clearly Ron was still beyond incensed by the cowardly DADA professor. 

The professor’s scream seemed to echo back up the pipe. It wasn’t a comfortable sound to hear. Nor was the crunching thud that ended it. Oh god. They’d killed him. They’d actually killed him. A person. They’d pushed him down a hole and killed him. They’d...

“Really quite filthy down here.”

Air rushed out of Harry’s lungs. Breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. Lockhart was alive.

Good. 

Harry peered down the hole. 

Now it was their turn.

~HpɸqH~

Hermione ran. Ran as fast and as hard as she could, robes flapping around her, school shoes slapping hard against the unyielding stone floors.

She was a fool. She was ten times the fool. She was a monstrous blithering idiot. She was the combined IQ of Crabbe and Goyle divided up between a bus load of earthworms. 

She’d believed in Lockhart. Believed the books and the stories and the fancy clothes. The charming smile and perfect hair. She’d been duped. She’d been hoodwinked. She’d been taken in like some brainless airhead. It was humiliating. And worse than that, now her blind faith meant Ginny could die. 

God. Harry and Ron. 

They were still going to try and save her. She knew it. She didn’t know whether they’d unstick Lockhart and still try to get his help or go alone, but either way she’ knew they’d try. They were going to die too. Harry was amazing but against a basilisk? 

They needed help. 

They needed a real hero. Someone who really had done wondrous and amazing things. Someone who wouldn’t turn and run away from danger.

Sirius Black. 

She had to find Black and Lupin. Even if he was unwell Lupin would help too right? And even if he couldn’t, Sirius wouldn’t let Harry run in to danger alone. Sirius loved Harry. Sirius was Harry’s godfather.

And Sirius knew his way around the school better than anyone alive. He’d know how to help. He would. He’d find Harry and Ron, he’d help them, keep them safe and save Ginny all at the same time. She knew it. 

She had to get to him. She had to find him. 

He’d still be at the hut right? That’s where he’d been living. 

She had...

Turning a corner, Hermione felt her forward motion abruptly halted and hands grab her robes. 

“Oh dear, oh dear. Miss Granger. You ‘ave caused quite a stir tonigh’. The Headmistress is quite keen to talk to _you_.”


	14. Into the Abyss

Minerva McGonagall stood in the middle of Albus Dumbledore’s office and looked up at the sleeping portraits, willing them to awaken and offer her some kind of guidance. But as they had since Albus had left, they remained in silent slumber. Perhaps it was because she steadfastly refused to think of herself as Headmistress, merely as one standing in for the real Head in his absence, but the portraits would not wake for her. The office did not speak to her with the voice of centuries of knowledge and experience. 

No it remained cold, dark and decided _unoccupied_. No matter what Albus had intended, she had known deep down in her very soul that this was not her office. Would never be her office until the day that Albus Dumbledore left it of his own free-will or, heaven forbid, died. 

In a way she was glad for it. Glad the portraits kept their eyes closed in repose and did not waken to stare down at her with baleful reproach. Glad they didn’t bother to acknowledge her presence and let her know exactly how they felt about her. It was bad enough that others would. It was bad enough that she would. 

Minerva McGonagall, the one under whose watch Hogwarts would close its doors forever.

She wasn’t entirely sure why she’d even come here. There was plenty that needed to be done. Plenty that she should be doing. It was impulse really. She’d been passing by the entrance and on a whim had made her way inside. 

She should go. There was no point in her being here. The students would need to be organised ready to take trains home tomorrow. Letters were already being written and should be ready to be Owled before morning. The governors had been informed, as had the Grangers and the Weasleys. Undoubtedly the ministry knew by now and there would be questions that would need answering. 

So much to do to close a school. And how she was going to face the parents of whichever unfortunate girl had been taken she didn’t...

A squawking broke the ringing silence of the office and Minerva startled violently, whipping around wand out and ready to face off against her attacker. Only there was no attacker, just a beautiful red and gold bird, watching her with intelligent and considering eyes. 

“Fawkes?” Minerva asked disbelievingly. 

“I would appreciate it Minerva,” A voice from behind her rumbled, causing the frazzled witch to pivot round, “If would refrain from casting anything harmful in Fawkes’ direction. He can become quite belligerent if his feathers are ruffled.”

“Albus!” Minerva exclained in both relief and shock. It didn’t take her long to recover from either emotion however, and pursing her lips, she folded her arms over her chest and scowled. “Where have you been? Severus told me last night he hasn’t been able to contact you for weeks!”

Giving his head a rueful shake, Albus moved further into the room, his fingers reaching out subconsciously to run over various items as he passed by them. “Upon leaving the school, I found myself somewhat amazed at how much needed to be done with the International Confederation of Wizards, that apparently could only be achieved with my presence and input. Indeed, so much was laid before me within days of my suspension that if I were a suspicious man, I would think someone were trying to keep me busy.”

Minerva blinked. “You think someone was trying to keep you away from the school?”

Moving around to sit behind his desk, the aging wizard lowered himself into his chair and let out a sigh. “Given that I was suspended in the first place, and the circumstances surrounding that suspension I’m afraid it seems highly likely.”

“But you’re back?” Minerva asked with slightly narrowed eyes. 

“Hmmm.” Albus hummed in agreement. “After you contacted the Governors earlier this evening with the news that a student had been taken into the chamber of secrets, the governors met and saw fit to call me back.” He paused then and gave his deputy a thoughtful look. “I hope you understand that this is not an indication of any lack of confidence on the Governors’ part in your ability to manage the school Minerva.”

“I don’t give a rat’s arse what the governors think of me! Removing you was a foolhardy and ridiculous decision in the first place!” Minerva shot back in irritation. And yet she knew she’d spoken the truth. She didn’t rightly care much what the governors thought of her. She’d never cared for the opinions of idiots and by suspending Albus Dumbledore in the middle of a crisis, the governors had proven themselves idiots and so much more. 

“Do not think too unkindly of them Minerva, I have reason to believe that many of the decisions they have made of late have been greatly influenced by threats made against themselves and their families.” Albus placated calmly. “In fact, their decision to call me back, in part had much to do with morality overcoming fear, but also had a great deal to do with their respect for you. Some of the governors felt, I am given to understand, that should the school be forced to close, it should do so under my headship, not yours. That yours should not be the name associated with such failure.”

“And have we? Failed Albus? Is there no hope for the poor girl the monster has captured? And those guaranteed to be right now attempting to rescue her?” Minerva pointedly asked, her eyes hard but worried. She knew she didn’t need to explain her comment. Given the two girls unaccounted for, it was no surprise at all who the two boys were. That Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley would do anything for Hermione Granger went without saying. That all three of them would move heaven and earth to aid the youngest Weasley was not such a foregone conclusion, and yet if young Mr Weasley were to insist on trying to help his sister (and given previous adventures that was not at all unlikely) then the other two would not be too far behind. In fact, when she took a moment to think about it, it actually made the most sense if it were Ginerva who had been taken. If it had been Hermione, then Ginerva would more than likely still be safe and sound within Gryffindor Tower. 

So what that left to consider was where exactly the three seconds years were, what they were doing, and how likely it was that they would be able to achieve what Albus Dumbledore had himself been unable to. Could three second year students have truly found the entrance to the chamber of Secrets? Could they really have unravelled a thousand year old mystery in less than six months?

Of course they could. Resourceful didn’t come close to describing those three. Capable and predisposed to landing head first in the worst trouble imaginable were also highly apt descriptions. So much for Harry keeping out of trouble this year. 

Blind. She’d been blind. She’d thought Harry had started to trust the adults around him, had started to behave as child his age should, and yet apparently this was far from true. 

Of course there was another explanation for Potter, Weasley and Granger being unaccounted for. Just because the message had said that the monster had taken one student into the chamber, it did not mean that it would not have either petrified or killed any unfortunate student brave enough to attempt to stop it. But she didn’t want to think about that. Didn’t even want to give the idea room within her head right now. It was just too horrific to consider. 

“Let go! Let go of me! I said let me go!”

Minerva frowned and turned towards the door, the distinct yelling of a young female voice coming from beyond. As she did the office door burst open, Hermione Granger stumbling through the entryway. 

“Ow! You little... If I’ad my way you’d be... Headmistress.” 

Followed swiftly by an irate looking Argus Filch. 

The man sneered. “Heard you were up here. Found this one heading for the clocktower. Looked like she was doin’ a runner.”

“I was not!” Hermione protested vehemently yet with an undertone of panic.

Minerva took a moment to steady herself. Something about the sneering squib always managed to exasperate her. She knew he did a good job, and had no issue with him because he was a squib, it was more his attitude towards the students that tried her patience. Oh she had no doubt the students tried his patience far more than he tried hers, especially those with less tolerant attitudes but that certainly didn’t excuse the way he spoke to and often manhandled the children. 

And then there was Miss Granger. Once more standing in front of her. Once more in the middle of the latest ruckus. 

At least she was safe. Although that did confirm that it was Ginerva Wealsey who had been taken into the chamber. A circumstance that had resulted in the return of Albus Dumbledore. With a mixture of guilt and relief, Minerva gracefully took a step to the side, revealing the desk and the headmaster sat behind it to the new arrivals. 

“Headmaster!” Filch blurted, then he scowled. “I wasn’t ‘ware you’d come back.”

“Not to worry, I in fact only a returned a few moments ago.” Albus smoothly replied, his eyes fixed not on the caretaker but on Hermione, his gaze curious. “Now if you would be so kind, I would appreciate it if you could inform the rest of the staff, I believe myself and Professor McGonagall have much to discuss with Miss Granger.”

~HpɸqH~

Damp and stone. The clink of water dripping. The smell of deep earth.

Great statues of serpent heads rose out of the water that lapped across the surface of the flagstone causeway down the centre of the submerged room. They formed an intimidating guard of honour, sentinals watching the path towards the place beyond, and the enormous effigy carved it seemed into the very rock. A huge face, with a great mane of almost serpentine hair. The blank stone eyes stared severely back. 

The Chamber of Secrets. The lost hall of Salazar Slytherin. The domain of his Heir and his beast. 

Harry froze at the first sight of it. His feet halting against his will as his mind reeled at the scale and imposing nature of it. Swallowing thickly, he looked over his shoulder, back the way he had come. Back to where Ron remained trapped with Lockhart behind a wall of fallen stone. 

For the last two terms Harry had been rolling his eyes and getting increasingly annoyed with Ron’s broken wand, but not now. No, now he was greatful for it, because without it, his best friend would be a vegetable and if Lockhart had had his way, Ron wouldn’t have been the only one. Lockhart had no shame. Not only was he a fraud, a liar and a sham, he’d also sunk low enough to pretend to faint just to catch Ron off guard and steal his wand, with the express purpose of wiping both of their memories. Talk about a creep. 

Well the creep got his just deserts didn’t he? Ron’s wand had backfired on him, and although the misfired spell had almost brought the tunnel down on top of them all, creating a wall of fallen rock between himself and Ron, it had done them one small favour. Lockhart’s memory was gone. Granted that meant he couldn’t help them, but Harry wasn’t convinced Lockhart could have helped them anyway. Besides, he’d proved that even if he could, that didn’t mean he _would_ , when he’d stolen Ron’s wand in the first place, so they were all better off with him incapacitated anyway.

Harry just wished Ron wasn’t on the other side of that wall. He could have done with having his best friend by his side right now. 

Turning back towards the head of Salazar Slytherin, Harry stepped cautiously forward.

~HpɸqH~

“What do you mean, _there is nothing we can do_?!”

Hermione sat on the conjured couch in Dumbledore’s office and winced. She’d heard that tone before, more often in the last year than she’d like, and it never boded well for the recipient. Professor McGonagall’s ire was formidable. 

And yet Professor Dumbledore merely stared back impassively, apparently unconcerned. But then, he seemed remarkably unconcered about a lot of things that Hermione felt he really ought to be concerned about. 

“Exactly as the statement implies Minerva,” The old wizard calmly replied. “I understand the severity of the situation, but at this moment in time there is nothing we can do.”

“Miss Granger has just revealed the location of the chamber of secrets, apparently knows the kind of monster within, and has just told us that two students! Two _second year_ students! Have gone off to face who knows what kind of danger in the company of that _foppish fraud_ Lockhart and you say there is nothing we can do!?” McGonagall railed. “This is madness Albus!”

“What would you have me do Minerva?” Dumbledore returned with a tilt of his head. 

If Dumbledore intended to say more, McGonagall didn’t let him. “Go after them!”

“I agree that would be a preferable course. I dislike the idea of young Harry and Mr Weasley in such a place as much as you do.” Dumbledore sighed and shook his head. “However, consider for a moment the nature of the Chamber of Secrets. I was here the last time it was opened. Although we searched we could not find an entrance. Nor were we able to do so this time, even though we now know that in all likelihood at least one of those searches took place at a time when the Chamber had been opened and Slytherin’s heir was inside. We must therefore assume that the entrance must close behind the entrant once they pass through, and if as I suspect the charms concealing the entrance only react to parseltongue, then even if we were to attempt to follow, we would be unsuccessful.”

Dumbledore’s words fell on Hermione like a slab of concrete. Harry spoke Parseltongue. He would have been able to get in. But as far as she knew, _no-one else_ did. Except the Heir, who was down in the chamber with Ginny. Harry and Ron were trapped. And Nothing and no-one could help them. 

“We have to help them professor!” She blurted without thinking. Slamming her mouth closed when she became the focus of the two professors. 

“Alas, My dear Miss Granger.” Dumbledore sighed. “I am afraid that we are left with no other choice but to trust in your friends and their resourcefulness.”

“Why don’t we pray while we’re at it?”McGonagall huffed sarcastically, turning away from the desk and taking a few strides away. “A miracle certainly wouldn’t go amiss right now would it? They’re children! Three young children facing a Basilisk! A beast that has felled more grown witches and wizards throughout our history than I care to count! They’re going to die Albus! Children. I can’t, _we_ can’t just...”

A Squawk cut her off and made Hermione jump. 

“See,” McGonagall snapped out her arm and pointed at Fawkes, “Even the bird agrees with me!”

“Now Fawkes...” Dumbledore seemingly replied to the Phoenix, his tone cautionary. 

Fawkes stretched his wings and let out a high trilling caw, bobbing his head, although it didn’t seem to be a nod of agreement. Hermione was spellbound. Stretching out, the bird was even more beautiful than he was perched. Gold and crimson flame. He had the attention of the room, yet he seemed to only have eyes for the Headmaster. For a brief moment it seemed to Hermione like they were caught in silent communication and then with a flap of his great wings the bird leapt from his perch, swooping low past Dumbledore then up, soaring vertically past the bookcases and shelves that stretched up to the ceiling. 

“I say, oof! Mind those claws.” a distantly family voice yelped out, and then Fawkes headed for the window, something brown and leather in his talons. 

Brown and leather. That voice. 

“He took the sorting hat!” Hermione exclaimed. 

Dumbledore continued to stare at the open window, his face grim, before looking back down. “Indeed. It is never wise to underestimate the instincts and cunning of a phoenix. Nor their loyalty. And where as we are currently powerless to assist Harry and the Weasleys, perhaps Fawkes is not.” 

Wrapping her arms around herself, Hermione bit her lip. She wanted to help, she wanted to do something. She wanted to let Sirius know what was happening. But she couldn’t do any of those things. Now she’d told Dumbledore and McGonagall all she could, all she could do was sit and wait. 

And hope.

~HpɸqH~

It was cold.

It was dark. 

Over the sound of the rocks clattering to the floor where he continued to try and dig a way through the wall of fallen stone, Ron could hear the murmur of voices. 

He couldn’t hear what was being said. It was all distorted and echo-y and too far away. But voices meant more than one person. Harry, he hoped, and someone else. Ginny maybe? Or the Heir of Slytherin. 

Ron swallowed thickly and kept digging. 

Behind him, Lockhart remained blissfully, if worryingly unconscious. He’d hit him. In the head. With a _rock_. If his mum found out she’d kill him. If he’d killed Lockhart then he’d go to Azkaban, and then his mum would _really_ kill him. 

He couldn’t even say he’d done because the man was about to curse them could he? No because he’d hit him after that. To make him shut up. To get him out of the way. 

Because he hadn’t really been thinking had he? Oh no, that wasn’t right. He’d been thinking, just not about Lockhart. He’d been thinking about Ginny, and evil would be Dark Lords and giant snake creatures that killed with a look. 

So he’d whacked one of his teachers over the head with a rock. 

He was so dead. 

Well he would be if he didn’t die down here instead. 

Something screeched on the other side of the wall. Someone shouted. 

More screeching, more shouting. There was a roaring hissing sound and the sound of something heavy on stone. 

Ron dug faster.

~HpɸqH~

Minerva McGonagall did not wait well.

She did not do powerless well. 

She did not leave to chance, or fate, or divine intervention well. 

What she did do well was organise. So that is what she did. She organised and she had an able if exhausted assistant to help her. 

Normally she would not have tolerated Miss Granger’s blatant defiance, but under the circumstances she could well understand it this time. After all, if someone had told her to run along off to bed when her best friends were facing off against a Basilisk she would have been hard pressed to sleep either. 

No, Miss Granger would only disturb her housemates if she were returned to her dormitory, and there would be disruption enough come the morning. So instead she allowed Hermione to help her. She’d taken messages, carried things and sat on Minerva’s office floor sorting through piles of paperwork. 

It wasn’t a real job but it would keep her occupied while the Deputy Headmistress got on with the real work of sorting things out for the following day. 

When the students would all need to be herded onto the train for their last journey home. 

Many of the staff would be accompanying them. 

Albus, Severus and she herself would not. 

No, they would remain. To clean up.

To look for the bodies. 

Damn Albus. Damn this school. Damn Slytherin and his monster. 

Damn them all.

~HpɸqH~

Albus Dumbledore sat at his desk, elbows on the surface, fingers laced in front of his face, his gaze distant.

“You’re playing dangerous odds here Albus. Never wise with a Basilisk.” 

Albus didn’t look up, but did nod absently at the cautionary words spoken by the portrait of his predecessor. He supposed when it came to magical beasts, there was no-one’s word more informed than that of Newton Scamander. 

“Poor show. Poor show indeed leaving those poor wee defenceless children down there.” A former Headmistress huffed haughtily. “Regardless of background, they’re still children you know.”

From a former Slytherin, that was saying something. 

Had he made the wrong decision? Had he led Harry to his doom? 

Closing his eyes, he rubbed his forehead wearily. Despite the outward calm he had shown Minerva, despite the confidence he had mustered for young Miss Granger, worry gripped his heart. He hadn’t lied. There truly was nothing they could do. Harry was on his own. And if things were as he suspected, then he was facing a threat far greater than any of the others imagined. 

For Albus Dumbledore knew something they did not. When the Chamber had been opened at the beginning of the year he’d spent numerous hours researching. So he knew, with but one or two tenuous exceptions (they being Draco Malfoy and Sirius Black), that in Tom Marvolo Riddle the truest and purest line of descent from Salazar Slytherin had ended. 

They weren’t ready. Harry wasn’t ready. _He_ wasn’t ready. How this had happened Albus didn’t know, but somehow it had and now he was utterly powerless to prevent events moving forward and Harry had been, somewhat inevitably, caught up in the wake. Destinies entwined. 

The prickle of magic in the air around him made Dumbledore open his tired blue eyes. 

There, on his desk, the sword of Godric Gryffindor. A Truly potent symbol of what Godric himself and his house stood for. A weapon of honour, valour, courage and nobility, forged in a time long past. 

And it was vanishing. Fading out of existence as it was called to serve once more. 

Slowly Albus sat back in his chair. First Fawkes, and now the Sword. 

Perhaps hope was not so distant after all.

~HpɸqH~

Harry stabbed. He stabbed the Basilisk fang down over and over and over into the diary, his eyes fixed on the screaming writhing memory of Tom Marvolo Riddle.

Voldermort. 

The one who had murdered his parents. Had doomed him to the Dursley’s. Was killing Ginny, which would hurt the Weasleys, the closest people to family he’d ever known, in ways he struggled to understand but knew deep in his bones. The one responsible for so much hurt it was overwhelming. 

Last year facing him had just been frightening. Now Harry felt something so much more acute. Hate. And an anger so rich and thick and burning it was like unlike anything he’d ever known. All he wanted in this moment was for him to die. 

He stabbed again. Riddle screamed. 

_Feel it_. The seething voice in his mind hissed. _Feel the burn!_

And then it was done. A brilliant flash of light and he was gone. Black blood covered Harry’s hands joining the blood of the basilisk and his own. His fingers tingled like they were falling asleep. The fang clattered from his grip as an incredible lethargy swept over him. 

He hurt. Not just bruises and scrapes. Inside. 

Dying. 

Venom. 

He was dying. 

His thoughts began to tumble one over the other, all with the similar theme. He couldn’t die. He couldn’t. There were things that needed doing. There was quiddich and spending time with Ron and Hermione. There was Sirius. He was only just getting to know him. He wanted to get to know him better. He wanted to help clear his name and spend more time with him. He liked Sirius, and Remus too. He shouldn’t have been so reticent. He should have spent more time at the hut, more time with his Godfather. _With his family._

But he hadn’t. He’d wasted the time. And now he was dying. 

“Harry?”

Harry shook his head and blinked a couple of times to clear his cloudy vision. Ginny. Ginny was awake. 

“Harry...” She said softly, her voice filled with tears. “It... It was me Harry. But I swear. I didn’t mean to! Riddle made me!”

“I doesn’t matter now.” Harry replied although his breath felt tight. And it didn’t matter. What mattered was finishing what he’d come down here to do. Only he couldn’t get Ginny out. She would have to do that on her own. 

“But...” Ginny protested, then her eyes widened as she caught sight of the wound on Harry’s arm. “You’re hurt!”

Slapping his hand over the puncture, Harry cradled his arm to his chest. “Ginny, listen to me. You have to get out of here.”

“But...” Ginny protested again, reaching out to Harry who reared back. 

“Please. Just do it. Follow the chamber and you’ll find Ron. He’ll help you get back, alright?”

Ginny nodded, but as she did a now familiar cry broke the air and Harry looked up, a half smile curling the corner of his lips as Fawkes in all his splendour swooped low through the chamber and came to land beside him. 

“You were brilliant Fawkes.” Harry told the bird sadly, his eyes meeting the bird’s intelligent gaze. And really Fawkes had been. He wouldn’t have made it as far as he had without him. First blinding the basilisk, then bringing the hat. He wasn’t sure if Fawkes brought the sword, or if the hat had made it appear, but it didn’t matter in the end did it? “I just wasn’t quick enough.”

And he hadn’t been. Not in the end. He’d managed to stave off the basilisk. He’d managed to outwit it for a while as it chased him. But in the end as he’d lunged forward to pierce its skull with the sword, it had bitten him, and now it was over. 

He wanted to be angry about that. Because it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t bloody fair. But he was so tired. 

Fawkes looked back at him, and Harry wished the bird would stop. It made him feel worse. Like he was somehow letting the Phoenix down. But then Fawkes ducked his head and nudged Harry’s fingers away from his wound. 

Go on Fawkes, have a look. Maybe then the bird would understand. Harry just hoped he’d lead Ginny to Ron and safety. Yet even as he thought this he felt something drip onto the wound. It stung. It stung like lemon in a paper cut only a thousand times worse. Harry winced and grit his teeth, his gaze snapping down to see what had fallen on his already burning arm. 

Only the burn was getting less. Was this dying? Did it all get less painful before then end?

No, that wasn’t right. The wound was closing. Before his very eyes the wound was closing, and although he still felt incredibly tired, he didn’t feel the heaviness anymore. All he could do was stare. How could this... 

“Of course!” He finally exclaimed quietly, “Phoenix tears have healing powers.” He couldn’t help the small laugh that came as he finished the sentence, a grin blossoming on his lips. Looking at Fawkes, he resisted the urge to reach out and pet the bird, unsure if such contact would be welcome. “Thanks.”

Fawkes trilled and puffed up slightly, then looked to Ginny in a way Harry thought was rather pointed. Right. 

“Come on Ginny. Let’s find Ron and get out of here.”

~HpɸqH~

When it became apparent that they couldn’t climb back up the way they’d come in and Ginny couldn’t remember how she’d done it before, their only option was to let Fawkes take the lead. Not that he’d actually let them do anything else. For a creature incapable of speech, or at least speech that Ron, Ginny or Harry could understand, Fawkes could be exceedingly bossy.

Lockhart was at least awake, although his lack of any memory was something of a difficulty. Thankfully the man seemed happy to follow them like a lost puppy. After a good fifteen minutes trudging through caverns and tunnels, they arrived at a natural chamber bathed in moonlight, a great crack in the rock visible above their heads. 

“Well how the bloody hell are we meant to get up there?” Ron groaned disbelievingly as he stared at the sheer walls all around them, Ginny tucked close into his side, her head against his shoulder. Turning to Fawkes, he gave the bird an irritated look. “Not all of us can fly you know.”

Narrowing his eyes, Fawkes glared at the redhead and squawked indignantly before lifting off his rocky perch and landing squarely on Lockhart’s shoulder. 

“My you really are a magnificent creature aren’t you?” Lockhart cooed, reaching out to tickle Fawkes’ chin and getting his fingers snapped at in return. “Tetchy though.”

Harry wasn’t paying attention. He was looking at Fawkes who was looking at him, the expression on the remarkable bird’s face one that seemed to implore Harry to understand where the other dimwits it was unfortunate enough to be lumbered with clearly didn’t. 

Then it clicked. Dumbledore had told him about this too, when he’d mentioned the healing powers. “They can carry immensely heavy loads. He’s going to carry us!”

“What? All of us?” Ron shot back incredulously. 

Fawkes levelled a look that Hermione would have been envious of in Ron’s direction, and Harry had to throw all his effort into stifling a laugh. “I think that means yes.”

It took a bit of organising, but Fawkes once again became bossy, squawking and trilling at them until they’d organised themselves in weight order. With a last minute brainwave, Harry cast sticking charms to his, Ron’s and Ginny’s hands, then as Fawkes lifted off, Ron grabbed Lockhart’s leg and Harry’s hand, and Harry wrapped his free arm around Ginny. 

“This is Amazing!” Lockhart shouted as they soared up towards the open sky. “This is just like Magic!”

His hand glued to Ron’s, Harry thought that in his experience, Magic was far less painful on the arms and shoulders. 

It was as they were nearing the practice field that someone other than Lockhart said anything. 

It was Ginny. “Harry?”

“Yeah?” Harry replied, looking and speaking loudly over the whip of the wind. 

Ginny’s upturned face was worried. “If we’re all stuck together, what happens when we land?” 

Damn, he hadn’t thought of that. 

Tbc...


	15. Passages

“I don’t know why _you’re_ worrying. You’re not the one about to be expelled.”

Hermione, her arms folded resolutely over her chest, looked back over her shoulder from where she’d been staring at the spines of the books on Dumbledore’s shelves and shot an exasperated glare. 

The three of them had been waiting in the Headmaster’s office for what seemed like hours. Could well have been hours given how the sun was beginning to come up. 

Professor McGonagall had sent them here to wait after Madame Pomfrey had checked Harry and Ron over. Despite being dirty and bit banged up the boys were fine. Harry needed some kind of potion that sounded to Hermione like a kind of multivitamin because of the Basilisk venom draining a lot of his resources, but other than that, their time in the infirmary had mostly been spent in Pomfrey’s office, explaining to Dumbledore and McGonagall what had happened in the Chamber, while Pomfrey looked after Ginny out in the infirmary. Then a message had come saying that Ginny and Ron’s parents had arrived, and McGonagall had ordered them to leave without so much as a hint as to their fates. 

Not that Hermione was overly concerned that _she_ would be expelled. No, thanks to her failed attempt to get help, she’d only broken a few minor rules. Harry and Ron on the other hand. Well she’d lost count of the rules _they’d_ broken. 

It wasn’t fair. She knew they’d broken the rules, but they’d saved Ginny, and Harry had not only defeated a Basilisk, but he’d defeated Voldermort. Again!

That should really count for something. Really really should. 

“Can you two not fight right now?” Harry sighed tiredly, slumping against a pillar. “Please?”

Worriedly, Hermione stepped closer, placing a hand on his arm. “Are you alright Harry?”

Harry shrugged and shook his head. “Just tired and...” He looked away. 

Hermione noticed Ron come over out of the corner of her eye. “And what Harry?”

Harry sighed deeply and looked away. “I don’t want to be expelled Hermione. I can’t be... I... you two have somewhere to go if something happens. If I get expelled I’ll have to go back to...”

“To those flea bitten miserable piles of stinking troll dung you call relatives.” Ron sneered angrily, then his face turned thoughtful. “You know Harry, if you told mum and dad everything, you know, about how they are, I’m sure they’d let you come stay with us. Could be fun.”

“It’s not that simple Ronald.” Hermione huffed. “You can’t just choose who you live with. Not when you’re only twelve anyway.”

“Doesn’t matter anyway.” Harry sighed, looking away. 

Impulsively, Hermione took Harry into a hug, feeling him stiffen against her as he always did before relaxing and returning it. “It’ll be alright Harry, It will.”

“Yeah.” Ron agreed, patting his shoulder. “We’ll work something out.”

Pulling back from Hermione, Harry offered them both a weak smile. “Thanks guys.”

The catch of the door latch made them step apart, and all three watched warily as the Headmaster seemed to glide into the room, his face sober as he approached. 

He didn’t say a word as he passed them, merely sat behind his desk and waited until they lined up before him. Finally, his index fingers pressed against his lips, he surveyed each in turn over the top of his half moon spectacles before laying his hands in his lap, sitting back and speaking. 

“You realise of course, that over the course of the last few hours, the three of you have broken perhaps a dozen school rules. You less so Miss Granger, but you have still chosen to ignore and defy the authority of your teachers in ways that could have endangered yourself _and_ others.”

Head suitably bowed, beside her Hermione heard rather than saw Ron swallow stiffly. In unison the three replied. “Yes Sir.”

“There is sufficient evidence,” Dumbledore continued sharply. “To have all three of you expelled.”

“But...” Hermione argued, but quickly ducked her head again at the look the Headmaster shot her. 

Dumbledore let the words sink in, then took a deep breath. “Therefore, it is only fitting, that you two boys, both receive Special Awards for Services to the School. And you Miss Granger, will receive a Special Commendation for your courage and your loyalty, as well as your clear headedness in a crisis.”

Hermione blinked then looked up. First at the Headmaster, and then at Harry and Ron who were looking back at her and then at each other with the same look of stupefied relief that she must have been wearing. An award for Special Services for the School? That was the highest accolade the school could award. And a Commendation for her? She hadn’t done anything. Except run off like a some heartbroken airhead and get herself caught by Filch. 

Ron was the first to break the stunned silence. “Cor... thanks sir.”

“Yes... Yes, thank you Professor.” Hermione chipped in, as Harry nodded speechlessly beside her. 

Dumbledore smiled back, his eyes twinkly and his face full of warmth. Yet there was an exasperated edge to his expression that let Hermione know they had worried the Headmaster far more than he was about to admit. 

Pushing away from the desk, Dumbledore picked up a folded parchment from the surface and rose to his feet, moving to step around to their side. “Now Mr Weasley, if you would. Have an owl deliver these release papers to Azkaban.” 

Having reached Ron’s side, he lay a hand on the boy’s shoulder, turning him towards the door and ducking his head to speak quietly. “I believe we want our game keeper back.”

Ron took the papers with a happy nod, and as he did so, Dumbledore looked over his shoulder, catching Hermione’s eye. 

Hurrying over, Hermione looked up the Headmaster as he ushered Ron on, then turned to her, keeping them both with their backs to Harry. Dropping his head and his voice even lower, he smiled knowingly. “I am sure you will understand, that Hagrid may not appreciate returning to find his home already occupied.”

Wide eyed, Hermione tried to take a step back, but Dumbledore’s hand was like iron at her back and his expression although not unfriendly, had turned serious. “I know of your loyalty and perhaps some of your reasons for it Miss Granger. So now I believe it is time for me to fully understand it yes?”

Swallowing nervously, Hermione nodded. “Yes sir.”

“Then might I also recommend evening, as an opportune time for a stroll through the grounds?” Dumbledore suggested mysteriously, nodding sagely when he knew his message had been understood. 

With a final nod. Hermione acknowledged her dismissal and shot for the door. 

She didn’t even care what it was Dumbledore clearly wanted to talk to Harry about. 

He knew! Dumbledore knew!

~HpɸqH~

Harry walked slowly towards Gryffindor Tower, a tired grin plastered on his face. It had been highly satisfying to get one over on Malfoy Senior, and he felt a warmth inside him at the knowledge he’d done something good. It was nice, and he couldn’t wait to tell the others about it.

Or Sirius. He’d avoided mentioning anything about certain house-elves and attempts on his life in front of his godfather and for good reason. Just talking about the times he’d spent with Pettigrew had set Sirius off on a couple of quite intimidating rants. Harry got the feeling Sirius could be quite scary when he wanted to be, and he often _wanted to be_ when people threatened _him_. So telling him about Dobby hadn’t really felt like a wise thing to do. 

But now he knew what was going on and it was all over he felt like he could share. Hell he wanted to share. 

It was a nice feeling. Wanting to share things with Sirius. He wasn’t used to that. The only people he could ever remember wanting to share anything with were Ron and Hermione, and maybe Seamus and Neville to a lesser extent. Sharing things like this with an adult? Knowing that an adult would want to listen? That was new. 

And Harry liked it. He really liked it. 

There were no lessons today, and everyone was free to roam about as they pleased with the Basilisk gone, so maybe they could sneak down to Hagrid’s a bit earlier today. 

With that in mind, Harry trotted up the stairs, waiting a little impatiently while they moved round to position that would actually let him reach his common room, then continued on, already working out in his head how they might best get down there. 

“Harry!”

Harry halted at the call of his name, and his brow crumpled into a frown as he saw Hermione and Ron sat on the stairs near the entrance to the tower. 

“What are you two doing out here?” Harry shook his head in disbelief, then looking at Ron, his scowl became genuine. “And why do you have my cloak?”

“He knows Harry.” Hermione whispered urgently having rushed up to him. “Dumbledore knows about Sirius. He advised me that Hagrid might not appreciate coming back to find his home occupied, and that evening would be a good time for a stroll in the grounds. I think he knows Sirius is an animagus too. He said he knew why I was loyal to him. I think he knows that it was Sirius that saved me from the Basilisk!”

For a moment Harry couldn’t say anything. His throat felt tight and his heart felt ready to explode. Sirius. Dumbledore knew about Sirius, and even thought Harry knew Sirius had been trying to find Dumbledore the idea that he’d been _found out_ filled Harry with terror. What if Dumbledore didn’t believe him? What if Dumbledore had already sent for the Ministry and they put Sirius back in that terrible prison? He’d only just found him, he couldn’t lose him now!

But then his own conversation with Dumbledore played over in Harry’s mind. He’d been so consumed with everything that had happened earlier, and then with getting one over on Malfoy senior, payback for what he’d done to Ginny, the Headmaster’s words hadn’t really registered at the time. 

“He reminded me of something he’s told me before.” Harry muttered thoughtfully. “He said to remember that Hogwarts didn’t just give help to those who needed it, but those who asked for it.” Suddenly, he understood. “That’s what he meant! An evening stroll, asking for help. Hermione, he wants Sirius to come here this evening! He wants to hear him out! He wants to help!”

~HpɸqH~

Windows illuminated one by one as dark crept over the castle. In the clearness of the March sky, the stars seemed to sparkle.

High up in Gryffindor Tower, Harry sat in the alcove of the window, knees tucked up to his chin as he gazed out over the Black Lake. He couldn’t see Hagrid’s hut from his vantage point but he could imagine it in his mind’s eye. Could imagine the occupants still within. 

He could remember his promise. The one Sirius had extracted from him. Whatever happened tonight, he was to stay safely within Gryffindor Tower.

_“Let me go with you!”_

_“Harry... there is no guarantee that tonight will go like we hope it will. You shouldn’t have to see that.”_

_“But you’re innocent!”_

_“And you know it! That will be enough... for now.”_

_“But...”_

_“No...”_

_“Sirius.”_

_“I suppose you’re tired of hearing this, but you are so much like your father. He would have walked into the fires of hell at my side as I would have at his. Your eyes though, you have...”_

_“My mother’s eyes.”_

_“And she would have had my hide for a throw rug if she knew I’d taken you with me tonight. It’s cruel, that I got to spend so much time with James and Lily and you so little. But know this Harry, no matter what happens, those that love us never really leave us. And you can always find them, in here.”_

Harry rubbed his hand over his breast bone, where Sirius had laid his hand. Over his heart. It had been a goodbye. Harry knew that. Just in case it all went wrong. Just in case Dumbledore didn’t believe. 

Curling his arms back around his knees, Harry continued to stare out of the window as the last light left the sky. 

The moon traced higher, one by one the lamps behind the windows were extinguished. The castle became a looming dark silhouette against the starry sky.

But one window remained lit. 

Blue eyes stared up at it. Arms that once held great strength, but now were thin and wasted through years of starvation hugged a ragged and threadbare overcoat around a too thin body. 

“Ready Padfoot?”

Sirius looked over his shoulder at Remus stood a just a step behind him. Padfoot. Remus hadn’t called him that since before Azkaban. At least as far as Sirius could recall; he knew his mind wasn’t what it should be sometimes. 

It seemed fitting somehow anyway; how many times had Remus been there for him before a summons to the Headmaster’s office? Too many to count. And now sixteen years later here he was again. 

He’d never been this worried about a meeting before though. Only one incident had come close, and for obvious reasons Remus hadn’t been there for him then. He was here now though, and thinking back to that awful night just made his presence all the more incredible. There weren’t words to express his gratitude, his awe and his appreciation. 

Taking a deep breath and pulling away from the reassuring amber gaze, Sirius looked back up to that one lit window high up in one of the towers. 

“I’m ready.”

The temptation to transform was incredible. Life was so much easier as a dog. And safer. But he didn’t. He would walk into the school as a man. And perhaps tomorrow, he would be able to walk through the front door as a free one. 

A free man. What a concept. No more running. No more hiding. He could have his life back.

No. No he couldn’t. His life had been Remus. Had been James and Lily and Baby Harry. Had been his work as an Auror and his devotion to the war against dark wizardry. 

Everything was so different now. There would be no stepping back in where he left off. But maybe something new. Maybe something not better, but different?

“Concentrate on getting through tonight first.” Remus’ voice chuckled behind him.

Swallowing sharply, Sirius pursed his lips tightly together. Damn. He’d been doing so well at the not talking to himself the last week or so.

“Don’t worry, you weren’t talking to yourself, but I have to wonder what made you grin like that. What were you thinking about anyway?”

“Harry.” Sirius admitted. “You think.... you think he’d agree if I asked him to live with me?”

Remus was quiet for longer than Sirius would have liked as the climbed the path towards the school, but eventually he sighed. “One step at a time Padfoot.”

“Right.” Sirius sighed. Remus was right. One step at a time. First of which was getting into the castle. They’d long left the path, and were traversing the steep side of the hill, scrambling around rocks and plants up against the castle wall. Finally after almost falling for what felt like the hundredth time, Sirius groaned, and turned round to face Remus, holding out his hand. “Wand.”

“What?” Remus replied, startled by the abrupt stop and request. 

“Don’t be an idiot Remus, give me your wand. I can’t see sod all out here.”

“Oh.” Remus replied a little stupidly, fishing into his pocket and pulling out his wand. 

Taking it, Sirius let it sit in his hand for a moment. Remus’ wand had never sat all that comfortably with him. Then again few people’s wands did, just like his felt uncomfortable to nearly everyone he knew who’d tried it. His wand. It was long snapped now. Damn the Ministry. Well at least Remus’ wand was used to him, even if it didn’t feel right. He could feel the wands reluctant acceptance of his use of it. The wand remembered. 

“Lumos minima.” He whispered, and at the wands tip a faint glow appeared. Not enough to draw attention, but enough that if he shone it at the ground he could see where he was going. Unlike Remus, _he_ didn’t have lycanthropic night vision. 

A little further along, their progress much easier now Sirius wasn’t tripping every couple of steps, they reached a section of wall covered in ivy. Pushing aside the vines revealed a metal grate, which opened with only a firm tug. Holding it open, Sirius made a gallant gesture. “After you.”

Remus chuckled and shook his head. “Oh no. I insist.”

“Coward.” Sirius shot back jokingly, stepping into the damp tunnel. 

“Yep.” Remus replied as he pulled the grate closed behind himself. “You’re my human shield if someone discovers us.”

“Charming Moony.” Sirius snorted back, bent almost double in the cramped space. 

It occurred to Sirius that they shouldn’t be joking like this. That at no time had anything been more serious. And yet it was a combination of memory and gallows humour that seemed to have taken control of his tongue tonight, and apparently, Remus’ too. 

“You know,” Sirius spoke up again after they’d both squeezed through a tight passage. “I remember these tunnels being a lot bigger when we were at school.”

“That’s because we were a lot smaller most of the time.” Remus answered glibly. “I certainly remember healing a fair few grazed foreheads in seventh year.”

“I think that had more to do with us banging our heads on our desks in frustration at our assignments. Funny how dire things like that seemed back then.” Sirius mused. 

“Oh to be seventeen again.” Remus joked back. 

“Not on your life. Now twenty. I could do being twenty again.” Sirius laughed. “That was a good year.”

“If you look past the Death Eaters, the War, Lily’s pregnancy mood swings and James flying about in a near constant panic.” Remus recalled dryly. “I suppose it was.”

“Good times.” 

Again they lapsed into silence, and Sirius wondered if Remus was also replaying moments of that year in his head. Despite everything it had been a good year, and infinitely better than what came later. By the time Sirius had turned twenty two, the war had been at its peak, his brother had been killed, the entire Order had been on a knife edge with the knowledge of a traitor in their midst, Remus had left him and James and Lily had gone into hiding with baby Harry. A week later Peter had betrayed them, Voldermort had murdered James and Lily, Harry had been orphaned, the war had ended and Sirius had been on his way to Azkaban with no trial, no friends and no hope of clearing his name. 

So yeah, he would quite happily do twenty again. He’d do a lot of it differently, but he’d do it again. It was the years that followed he would not repeat. He hadn’t mentioned it to Remus, it wouldn’t be fair. But no matter what Dumbledore said, Sirius knew he wouldn’t be going back to Azkaban. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. 

Not now. 

He would escape again. Or he would die trying. He didn’t want to die. Not now that Harry knew the truth, not now when hope seemed so close at hand. But he would never return to that island, nor feel the cold grip of a Dementor again as long as he had the strength to stop it, one way or another. 

With that in mind, Sirius quickened his pace. He wanted this over with. He wanted to know his fate and he wanted to see justice. He wanted the truth known and for Pettigrew to get what he deserved. 

Maybe he _would_ go back to Azkaban. As a visitor. To see Pettigrew. To give him that tie to reality that would keep him from the blissful oblivion of utter madness. Because Sirius knew, he’d seen with his own eyes, that although Azkaban was a fate worse than death, there were those who had been there long enough that they’d escaped within their own minds. To a place safe from the Dementors. That was too good for Pettigrew. He deserved to suffer endlessly for what he’d done. For the grief he’d caused. 

Dumbledore had to believe him. He had hope now that the Headmaster would. Remus did. Harry did. Harry’s friends did (Well he wasn’t sure about the Weasley boy, but Sirius got the impression that Ronald Weasley was the kind to cling to an idea even if presented with irrefutable evidence to the contrary, just for the pure bloody-mindedness of it). For so long he’d felt so alone in the truth. So isolated. It had been more than rage and madness that had driven him to try and kill Peter, it had been a conviction that it was the only way to achieve any kind of justice. 

They weren’t far from the Headmaster’s office now. The corridor on the other side of the panelled tunnel wall would lead them there. 

“Anyone on the other side?” he whispered to Remus, knowing his sense of smell and his hearing were far more reliable than his own. He held his breath to make it easier to hear since he knew with how bad the pair of them must smell, it wouldn’t be easy for Remus to use his nose. 

Eventually, just when Sirius thought he would either have to breathe or pass out, Remus shook his head. 

Letting out the air he’d been holding in a rush, Sirius leant against the wall for a second while his head stopped spinning, then he handed Remus back his wand and began to work his fingers around the wall surface, trying to find the edge of a panel. 

“Ah ha.” He whispered triumphantly, and with a little scratching, pushing and tugging, he managed to get his blackened, broken nails into a crack. “Give us a hand.”

Remus nodded, popping his wand behind his ear, and together they managed to pry the panel away from its fixings. If the panels weren’t so hard to prize open in the first place, they would have used them more often during their school days. As it was they’d hinged a couple of panels in key locations during their time, but never seen fit to do one close to the Headmaster’s office. That was asking for trouble. 

It was slow work. To do it any quicker would result in breaking the panel and making a noise no-one could ignore. A final push and they moved it enough to make a gap just wide enough for them to squeeze through and once out, the panel popped easily back into place. 

Dusting themselves down and doing their best to straighten up – a rather futile effort considering they only had two and half sets of clothes between them and washing spells only went so far – the pair moved down the darkened hallway towards the Gargoyle that guarded the entrance to Dumbledore’s office. 

Harry hadn’t given them a password, one of the reasons Remus had originally been reluctant to interpret Dumbledore’s message as the children had, but Sirius had an idea. Walking up to the apparently immobile statue, he coughed. 

The faint sound of grinding stone, and the Gargoyle’s stone eyes opened, the head tilting ever so slightly. 

“We’re here to see Professor Dumbledore, he’s expecting us.” Sirius told it, his best official voice in place. 

The Gargoyle looked him up and down, then over his shoulder at Remus, before nodding stiffly and stepping aside. 

“Thank you.” Sirius offered a little imperiously, before stepping quickly forward. It wasn’t until they reached the stairs, and they began to turn that Sirius let his shoulders slump a bit. “Knew it would work.”

“Or it could have kicked up a right stink and brought the entire school running.” Remus replied a little caustically. 

“Well it didn’t did it?” Sirius countered. 

“Sometimes Sirius...” Remus growled, but then the stair stopped moving. 

“Show time.” Sirius waggled his eyebrows, then feeling far less confident than he appeared, he stepped off the top step and onto the small landing. 

He was twelve all over again, his first visit to the Headmaster’s office. All cocky and full of self righteousness on the outside, terrified on the inside, waiting to see the Headmaster for the first time and utterly convinced he was about to be expelled and would have to go home to his parents. 

The feeling was so all consuming Sirius found himself frantically looking around for a Dementor. 

“Sirius?” Remus asked curiously, having almost walked into Sirius’ back. 

Shaking himself, Sirius shrugged off Remus’ concern. “I’m alright. Just had a bit of a moment.”

Nodding, and approaching the door, Remus raised his hand. “Then let’s get this done shall we?” 

Sirius nodded and stepped up. Remus knocked. They waited. 

“Enter.”

Sirius drew a deep breath as Remus pushed the latch and opened the door. 

Stepping through was once again like stepping into memory. Nothing had changed. Everything was exactly as he remembered it. Even Dumbledore, who was sat calmly behind his desk, his hands folded on the surface, and his face impassive behind his glasses. 

For a moment, Sirius found he could only stare, then Dumbledore nodded ever so slightly. “Come in, both of you.”

As they approached, Dumbledore’s keen eyes tracked their movements, but he remained seated.

“Now,” Dumbledore finally spoke again once Sirius and Remus had reached his desk, “I understand that you both have something you wish to discuss with me?”

~HpɸqH~

Stepping out of the fireplace, Minerva McGonagall straightened her hat and cloak. Floo travel was convenient, but could be murder on one’s attire.

It wasn’t her favourite mode of transportation, but then again it wasn’t her least favourite either. At her age however, more often than not expediency rather than preference dictated the way in which she arrived at her destination. 

Especially when time was apparently of the essence. She had no idea why time was so critical to her current task, but Albus had sent her a message with his request, and haste had most certainly been implied. 

Something had to have happened. And there she had been, labouring under the apparently false assumption that everything was about to return to normal. To be honest, after months of sleepless nights, she’d been rather looking forward to getting reacquainted with her bed tonight.

The day had gone relatively smoothly. She’d stayed with the Weasleys until Poppy had given Ginny the all clear at which point her parents had understandably taken her home. Given what she had been through, Minerva understood the girl’s desire to be at home, and her parents’ wish to keep her close. 

Once she’d seen the three of them off, she had returned to her office for a long meeting with Charity to take back the reigns of Gryffindor house, a burden the young Muggle Studies professor seemed only too willing to be relieved of. 

Understandably there had been a lot of confusion amongst the students as to why they were suddenly allowed to roam at will after weeks of strict curfews, and rumours of being sent home early, but that had all stopped when Albus had announced the defeat of the monster and the rescue of Ginny Weasley at a special lunchtime feast. The festivities had gone on long into the afternoon and evening. The elves had left the tables in the great hall stocked with food all day and students had come and gone as they wished. A number of professors had organised impromptu games and activities both inside and outside. Some holding some educational value, most just being plain good fun. She herself had stood on the sidelines and cheered on her Gryffindors as they competed in a number of games and challenges Madame Hooch had managed to set up on the practice fields. 

It had been lovely to see the children relaxed, happy and carefree. And then later, as they all exhaustedly traipsed off to bed, she’d done her rounds making sure to look in on all of them. Strangely the only three who seemed somewhat subdued had been Potter, Weasley and Granger. In fact as far as she knew the three of them had not joined in any of the festivities and were the first to retire to their beds. 

Although she supposed it wasn’t that strange. They had to be exhausted. Merlin knew she was. 

Hopefully she would have no need to disturb them. Although given the errand on which she had been sent (having been interrupted in the middle of a well earned soak in her private tub) she held little hope. The Heir of Slytherin and his monster after all, had not been the only threat Hogwarts had been facing these last months. 

Stepping up to the counter, she caught the attention of the receptionist who was in the middle of trying to wrestle something out of the grip of a rather nasty looking owl. 

“Welcome to St Mungo’s, Ow... you little... Sorry... how can I help you?”

“Professor Minerva McGonagall. I understand I am expected.”

“Of course.” The harried woman replied, shaking out her hand which the Owl had just nipped. “Please take a seat, Dr Fizgit will be with you shortly.”

Shortly turned out to be nearly twenty minutes, but eventually a portly woman with a cheerful face, who reminded Minerva quite strongly of Pomona Sprout stepped through a side door. She held a folder under arm. Her smile was genuine if a bit cautious. 

“Hello there. I’m Dr Fizgit. I received the Headmaster’s message. I must say this is awfully irregular. Don’t usually give out this kind of information you know. Especially without the patient’s consent, or even knowledge. Not right. Not right at all.” She trailed off with a smile. “But a warrant is a warrant. Can’t argue with the Chief Warlock I suppose.”

So Albus had been throwing his weight around, Minerva mused privately. What the devil was he up to?

“Thank you for your co-operation. I’m sure you understand, Professor Dumbledore would not have asked if it were not entirely necessary.” She reassured, taking the package the woman handed her, hoping for everyone’s sake she was telling the truth. 

“Of course.” The woman nodded back. “Mr Pettigrew is just getting dressed, he’ll be here in a minute. Nasty case his. Difficult. He’s had us all wracking our brains. Doesn’t help he won’t really talk about anything. Only so much potions can do you know, not in a case like his.”

Now wasn’t that interesting. Minerva had been given to believe from her conversations with Pettigrew that things were going well. He’d certainly come across as far less rat-like of late. Still crawling, simpering and to use Harry’s phrase ‘creepy’, but not so very much the rodent. 

“Pr-Professor. What’s g-going on?” Pettigrew’s familiar voice stammered, and Minerva turned to see him step through the doorway behind the doctor, tugging his jacket in place. His nose twitched. 

“We’ll discuss this as soon as we return to the school Peter. Doubtless to say the Headmaster would not have asked that you return so quickly had it not been of the utmost importance.” Minerva reassured, stepping back and gesturing towards the fireplace. Picking up a handful of floo powder she threw it into the flames and spoke too quietly for anyone else to hear. “Praecipuum Officium Custodis Dulcedinem*.” Green flame licked in the grate. She looked back at Peter, “After you.”

Pettigrew grimaced a smile and did as she asked. Nodding her thanks to the doctor, Minerva followed him into the flame. 

The heavy wards around the floo into Dumbledore’s office felt like being squeezed through not just a tube but a series of U-bends filled with gravel, and the whole process made her teeth feel furry, but with a final sensation like being shoved, she stumbled out of the fireplace. 

And into bedlam. 

Tbc...

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Praecipuum Officium Custodis Dulcedinem: The Office of the Principal, Keeper of Sweets (sort of – consider it Wizard Latin because translators are a pain in the bum.)


	16. In Timor Veritas

“Now, I understand that you both have something you wish to discuss with me?”

Remus Lupin let his gaze flick between Sirius and the Headmaster as the silence drew out. After all their preparation, all their waiting the moment had finally come to take the first real steps towards Sirius’ freedom, and yet all of a sudden Remus could see it all going horribly wrong. 

Because Sirius had frozen up. Because Sirius had suddenly gone mute, his mouth opening and closing fractionally, but no sound emerging. Pinned with Albus Dumbledore’s impassive stare, all words seem to have flown. 

He didn’t blame Sirius for that kind of reaction. Being calmly asked to explain themselves like they’d booked an appointment to discuss a business venture was jarring to say the least. But still, it just couldn’t fall apart like this. Not now. 

Finally, when the silence and Dumbledore’s expectant stare became too much despite the promise he had made to himself to let Sirius tell his story without interruption, Remus found himself speaking. 

“Sirius is innocent.”

“I see.” Dumbledore replied calmly, leaning back slightly in his chair and lacing his fingers together. “Given the evidence to the contrary Mr Lupin, I hope you can understand why that might not be such an easy statement to believe.”

“What evidence.” Sirius snorted bitterly, and Remus felt his shoulders relax. Deer in the headlights Sirius had been unnerving, this Sirius was more like Remus had expected. 

Turning his gaze away from Remus and onto Sirius, Dumbledore peered at him over the top of his glasses. “The testimony of a number of Ministry officials and that of your intended victim.”

“Headmaster...” Remus attempted to step in, but Sirius had truly found his voice. 

“What witnesses!?” He barked incredulously. “The only people who knew Peter and I switched as Secret keeper were James and Lily and they’re dead! And you can’t use Harry as an intended victim he was a year old! What kind of testimony could he possibly have given!?”

Dumbledore raised his hand and gave Sirius a stern look to halt his diatribe. “I can see Sirius, that you have long laboured under a misconception. It is not for the betrayal of the Potters that you were arrested and imprisoned. The fidelus charm nor the position of Secret Keeper hold any weight in law. No, it is for the murder of twelve Muggles, and the attempted murder of Peter Pettigrew that you were arrested. And it is for those crimes that you must prove your innocence for the evidence against you is substantial.”

“Peter...” Sirius growled as he began, but Dumbledore once more shook his head and raised his hand. 

“Do not say any more.” He cautioned. “As Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot I hold the power to preside over matters of law, to hear testimony, but I cannot re-open an investigation, nor can I over-rule a judgment without the co-operation of the Minister of Magic and head of the Department for Magic Law Enforcement. And I assure you, I will not gain that co-operation without real evidence. If you truly wish to prove your innocence Sirius, we must do this by the book.”

“But you believe me?” Sirius pushed, a desperate edge in his voice. 

Sighing, Dumbledore cast Sirius a thoughtful look. “That you have presented yourself before me speaks volumes. And I will confess, that of late I have been given reason to doubt certain facts in this matter. However, although the circumstances surrounding the deaths of James and Lily Potter have little legal bearing for you, I am sure you can understand that they are of personal importance to me. I will hear your story Sirius Black. And then I will decide how I will proceed.”

Sirius nodded slowly, and then began to speak. More calmly than Remus would have given him credit for. 

Standing to one side, pitching in only when asked to, listening to Sirius’ version of events from the outside was strange. Hearing it all without the back drop of them, of their relationship and it’s vitriolic ending weaving its way through the recitation was just plain hard. For him the pain of losing the Potters was wound up in the pain of losing Sirius. It was all one huge bleeding ball of misery that only the last few weeks had really started to heal. 

But the rest of the world didn’t care about the misunderstandings and suspicions that had torn he and Sirius apart. The rest of the world didn’t care about the insinuations Peter had made to drive a wedge between them. It was all irrelevant. So where it had formed so much of the basis of how Sirius explained the true events that Halloween night to him, it barely even featured in what he told Dumbledore. 

Other than the most painful part of it all. 

“I thought it was only a matter of time. They got closer to taking me down all the time, they seemed to know everything. How I fought, how I would react. How to distract me. I was the obvious choice for Secret Keeper and if they took me... I thought... I thought they’d use Remus against me. That he’d be the one to...”

“Torture you.” Dumbledore concluded thoughtfully. “And you did not believe you could withstand such torture should it be inflicted upon you by the one you still held dear to your heart. Your former lover.”

“I didn’t think I could stand it for long no matter who it was, but if it was Remus...” Sirius glanced over at the werewolf, but looked away quickly. There was something in his eyes that Remus didn’t want to indentify. He wasn’t ready for that. “I wouldn’t last five minutes. I couldn’t take that chance. Not with James, Lily and Harry’s lives at stake. But if I wasn’t Secret Keeper it wouldn’t matter... I’d have nothing to tell.”

Dear Merlin it hurt. He’d heard it all before, but it still hurt. Sirius continued, but Remus only listened with half an ear as the story continued. He knew it all anyway. How James had argued but eventually conceded to Sirius’ wishes. How the charm has been recast. Sirius’ plan to skip the country and his arrival at Peter’s flat on Halloween night to find it empty, something that hadn’t been part of their plan. How Sirius had been suspicious and only grown more so when he couldn’t find Peter. How he’d eventually gone to Godric’s Hollow, not expecting to be able to find the cottage, but possibly find Peter, only to discover the fidelus no longer in effect. Finding James, Lily and Harry. Hagrid’s arrival. 

“I must stop you there.” Dumbledore broke in. “The rest, I am afraid I cannot hear in this manner.”

Sirius was shaking, his fists clenched tightly at his sides, his jaws now clamped firmly together. To stop himself from continuing or just breaking down Remus didn’t know. He wanted to step closer, to pull Sirius into his arms and comfort him. But that wasn’t them anymore. Instead he could only lay a hand on his shoulder, and show his silent support. 

“So what now?” Remus asked after a moment. 

“Now we wait.” Dumbledore replied smoothly. “Arrangements are all in place, but for this to be done properly there are others that must be present. I do not believe we will have to wait long.”

Confused, the pair could only look at each other, then back to Dumbledore, whose expression remained disquietingly impassive. 

There was a whoomph from the fire behind them, and Dumbledore looked up. “Ah, right on time.”

Turning to follow his line of sight, Remus could see the flames in the fire had turned green, and then a moment later, with a crackle and whooshing noise, a shape tumbled gracelessly out onto the floor. 

A short, rounded, balding shape. A very familiar shape. A very familiar face. 

“Sirius!” Peter squeaked in alarm, his eyes huge. 

From beside him, Remus heard a sound that although human, was also entirely feral. 

“Sirius no!” He yelled, lunging forward to catch the other man as he shot forwards towards the cowering rodent. He wasn’t quick enough, his arms looping around Sirius’ waist as Sirius’ hands wrapped themselves around Peter’s throat. 

“Mercy.” Peter croaked. 

“You don’t deserve mercy!” Sirius yelled back, trying at the same time to throttle Peter and throw Remus aside. “You betrayed them! You killed them!”

Even at his fittest however, Sirius was no match for a werewolf. With a hard heave, Remus hauled Sirius back, tearing his grip from Peter’s neck. “Sirius stop it! Sirius!”

“He deserves to die! Stop defending him! He needs to pay for what he did!” Sirius continued to shout wildly, scrambling and wrestling in Remus’ grip.

“I’m not defending him! I’m protecting you!” Left with little choice, strength alone not enough as Sirius wriggled and yanked at his hold, Remus kicked at the back of Sirius’ knees, and as he fell he caught him by the arms, holding the limbs behind the man’s back. 

“ENOUGH!”

The bellow was so loud, that to Remus’ sensitive ears it was excruciating. His gaze snapping up, he spotted Dumbledore stood in the middle of the room, wand raised to his throat. Sonorus. In a confined space. No wonder it hurt. And no wonder even Sirius had stopped struggling. It was only in the silence that followed, that he realised it had not just been his and Sirius voices he’d been hearing in the clamber. Peters voice. Wailing and accusing. And another voice.

Remus found himself taking in the rest of the room. Peter, still in the middle of the floor, gibbering and quivering, one arm curled over his head, the other holding his throat. And then there was the third person. 

Professor McGonagall. Tall, severe and pristine as ever, her face was a mask of shock and fury, and her wand was levelled directly at them. 

He saw the moment she recognised him. Her eyes widening in disbelief and her wand drooping ever so slightly in her shock. 

“Remus?” She asked incredulously. “How could you... after all he’s done...”

“Minerva.” Dumbledore cut her off gently. “If you would be so kind as to lower your wand. And Sirius, attempting to kill Mr Pettigrew now will not help your cause.”

Dropping his face lower so his mouth was close to Sirius’ ear, Remus whispered. “Remember your promise to Harry.”

That did it. Sirius sagged slightly, then when Remus’ hold loosened, he yanked himself free but did not charge Peter again.

“Very good.” Dumbledore nodded. “Now, I will explain what is to happen next. Very shortly, an officer of the court will arrive. At which point, the two of you, Peter, and Sirius, will give your accounts of your confrontation eleven years ago... under Veritaserum. Your statements will be recorded in accordance to our laws...

“Why?!” Pettigrew yelped. “He’s the killer! He betrayed the P-Potters! He was their Secret Keeper! He tried to kill me! He killed all those M-Muggles!”

“You snivelling traitorous little worm!” Sirius snarled. 

“Sirius!” Remus scolded, stepping up behind him and taking hold of his arm. 

Sirius shrugged him off angrily before turning to Dumbledore. “Look at him! Look at him! What other reason could he have to object to Veritaserum if he wasn’t guilty!?”

“Sirius please.” Remus implored, seeing things rapidly escalating out of hand. “Calm down.”

“I will not calm down!” Sirius snapped back. Suddenly he swung back towards Peter and launched himself at him, but instead of trying to kill his once friend, he merely grabbed him by the hair and turned him towards Dumbledore. McGonagall tried to intervene, but Dumbledore shook his head. Things were volatile enough. 

“Remus told me all about your lies. I turned you into a Rat did I?” Sirius sneered into Peter’s ear, making the man whimper. He shook him. “Tell them the truth. Tell them what really happened.”

“Sirius... my old friend... please...” Peter pleaded. “You don’t understand.”

“I understand enough.” Sirius growled back. “Tell them the truth.”

All of a sudden it occurred to Remus that to Sirius and Peter, the rest of the room had actually vanished. This wasn’t about Peter giving his account. Sirius wanted to hear the man say it. Sirius wanted to hear the truth from Peter’s lips no matter the cost. And Peter, Remus had no idea what he wanted. He’d known for weeks that Peter was guilty, but seeing him plead with Sirius suddenly made it all the more real. 

And then Peter landed a bombshell. 

“The Dark Lord, you have no idea the weapons he possesses... I ask you Sirius... what would you have done?”

Sirius’ response was vocal, but hardly verbal. The sound he made was one of inarticulate rage, his hands shifting on Peter’s head so that with one small movement he would snap his neck.

“Sirius no!” Remus yelled, even as Peter squeaked in fright and the door burst open and banged back against its hinges. 

“No!”

It all seemed to happen in slow motion. In the distraction caused by the door opening, Peter caught Remus’ eye, and the expression on his face was almost gleeful. Then in the next moment he was changed, sliding easily into his animagus form and wriggling free of Sirius’ grip. 

Everyone tried to move, tried to do something. They just weren’t fast enough. Sirius lunged even as Remus, McGonagall and Dumbledore reached for their wands, but it wasn’t enough. Peter easily darted through the feet of the newcomer in the doorway leaving Sirius to slide haplessly across the floor right into the legs of Peter’s unwitting accomplice, bringing the unfortunate arrival down on top of him. 

“Minerva!” Dumbledore gestured urgently, and the professor quickly caught on, changing into her own animagus form mid-run and easily leaping over the two men struggling in the doorway. Turning sharply to a painting, Dumbledore made sure he had the portrait’s attention and then began giving instruction. “Armando, pass the message along. Inform the ghosts, the staff, anyone you can find. I want every inch of this school searched. Pettigrew must not be allowed to escape!”

Meanwhile, reaching into the pile of tangled arms and legs on the floor, Remus managed to grab Sirius’ arm and drag him free, and they both looked up to find themselves peering down the business end of a strangely familiar wand, held in the grip of a man with an equally familiar face. 

“Going somewhere?” Severus Snape spat darkly. “Black... and Lupin. Now why aren’t I surprised? I told Dumbledore you’d be helping him...”

“Brilliant Snape.” Sirius snarled back, “Once again you’ve shoved your overly large nose where it isn’t wanted and managed to mess things up completely. Now if you’ll excuse us, Remus and I have a rat to catch! A rat you just let escape!”

“Like I’m letting you go anywhere.” Snape hissed, narrowing his eyes. 

“Severus.” Dumbledore spoke up, his face grim. “Alas Sirius has a point. Unfortunately, your arrival has allowed Mr Pettigrew to escape. For now.”

“Pettigrew?” Snape questioned in confusion, keeping his wand raised at Sirius with clear intent to use it should Sirius make a sudden move. 

Sirius wasn’t so deterred however, and it was only Remus’ grip on his arm that kept him from trying to barge his way through. “You idiot! The longer we stand here the less chance we have of catching Peter! Get out of the way!”

“Headmaster please.” Remus pleaded. “Peter knows every rat sized tunnel and crack inside the castle, and the fastest ways outs of it. The longer we stand here the less chance we have of finding him.”

“Severus, let them pass.” Dumbledore nodded sharply. 

Snape hesitated for a moment looking searchingly at the Headmaster, then lowered his wand, turning aside to let the two men go. But their path was blocked. Pained faced, Minerva McGonagall stood in the doorway. 

“I’m sorry.” She said to the two men, sounding out of breath. “I lost him. He disappeared down a drainpipe in one of the bathrooms. I couldn’t follow, and I have no idea where it comes out.”

“Do not concern yourself Minerva.” Dumbledore hastened to reassure the clearly aggrieved deputy Headmistress. “I have no doubt you did your best. By now all staff, every portrait and as many ghosts as can be mustered will be looking for him. He will be found.”

“If he hasn’t already made it out of the castle.” Remus mumbled quietly. But not quietly enough he realised when all eyes turned his way, and Dumbledore nodded sadly in agreement. 

“I should have killed him.” Sirius muttered furiously, pacing away from the group to rest his forehead against a pillar. Slamming his fist against the stone, he yelled. “I should have killed him while I had the chance!”

“And then you truly would have been guilty of one of the crimes of which you are accused.” Dumbledore replied sombrely. “I have heard and seen enough already to concede Sirius, that there may well have been a gross injustice served upon you. But before we do anything else, I must insist in knowing for sure. To that end, I propose we continue as planned. Severus, I assume you have the Veritaserum? 

“I have.” Snape affirmed coolly, casting Sirius a sideways glance. 

“Then let us proceed.”

~HpɸqH~

Morning was approaching. Minerva McGonagall could feel it in the heaviness of her limbs and the dryness of her eyes. This was no magical extra sensory perception of the time of day, merely pure, entirely mundane, fatigue.

Perhaps tomorrow, no today, she would have a chance to rest. But then again she highly doubted it. Thankfully there were only a few days left until the end of term, and then there would be three whole weeks off to catch up on much needed rest. And much neglected paperwork, and marking. 

And of course there would be the research she would need to do to make sure her testimony at Sirius Black’s trial was beyond reproach. That Albus would call her she had no doubt. That she would agreed to it went without saying. 

She would testify. Oh yes. There was no way to truly right the wrong she had committed against Sirius eleven years ago, but she could do what she could now. And if standing before the Wizengamot and testifying that Peter Pettigrew’s account was the great pile of troll dung it was then she would gladly do it. 

An animagus. She should have worked that one out. When Pettigrew had fed her his pack of lies she’d been incredulous, his account defying all she knew about transfiguration, yet the idea of him being an animagus had not occurred to her. 

Why? Because she hadn’t credited him with the talent, endurance and skill to have been able to become one. Nor had she, in all honesty, suspected that any of her Gryffindors would have become animagi without informing the correct authorities. That Pettigrew had done so, while still at school, was beyond belief. 

It was in fact, more incredible than the story he had told. Which of course explained why she hadn’t thought of it. 

Now though, it made a horrible and frightening kind of sense. And apparently, it had made a great deal of sense to Albus long before now. Damn him and his enigmatic ways. If he had only said something. Then again, he’d already admitted that he hadn’t been completely sure until the moment Pettigrew had transformed in his office. 

Oh this night had been full of revelations. Pettigrew’s almost confession. His exposure as an animagus. Sirius’ account. 

Dear Merciful Merlin. Sirius’ account. How could she have been so wrong? How could she have written off one of her own so quickly? She hadn’t even known she held such prejudice in her heart, and yet clearly she did because she’d lumped Black in with his family without question. She’d assumed his betrayal without pause. 

Oh she’d lamented it. She’d spent hours pondering how she could have been so wrong about one of her most talented students, but she had never doubted his guilt. Had never once considered she had in fact been right. 

Albus, the Ministry, the Press, even Remus had denounced him. It never crossed her mind to argue the facts laid before her. Only they hadn’t been facts. They’d been supposition. 

Assumptions. The entire case against Sirius Black was circumstantial and built on misinformation. The chain of events one poorly made decision after another. Not that his case had ever been heard. There had been no trial. And again Minerva wondered why she had never questioned that fact. No, she knew why. She had assumed, as many did, that Black had confessed. 

Only there had been no confession. Under the influence of Veritaserum, Black had claimed responsibility for the Potter’s deaths. But further questioning proved this an unwarranted assumption of guilt due to poor choices, not through any action on his part for which he should feel guilty.

He blamed himself. That did not mean he was the one responsible. 

Pettigrew had been the spy within the order. Pettigrew had been the one to sell the Potters out to Voldermort and Pettigrew had been the one to blow up the street full of Muggles. The reason for which they could only assume was to fake his own death and frame Sirius. Without Pettigrew’s own statement however, there was no way of knowing for sure. 

Unfortunately, Pettigrew’s statement was going to prove hard to come by since the little rodent had managed to evade capture. For all their combined skills and talents, for all the watchful eyes of the portraits and freedom of movement of the ghosts that they had been unable to find one rat was nothing short of infuriating. Even the house-elves had aided in the search, and they too had come up empty. 

Which meant they were going to have to accept that he was gone. So close to being captured, Pettigrew had escaped. 

Well not for long if she had anything to do with it. Once the Ministry was informed of what was going on, there would be nowhere the little weasel could hide. 

And he better hope the Dementors caught him, because they would be far kinder to him than she would be. 

Her anger knew no bounds when it came to his audacity and his betrayal. He’d lied to her. He’d used her. Not only to gain safe harbour, but to get close to Harry. 

Harry, who apparently had more sense in this than all the adults around him. No wonder the poor boy struggled to trust her. There she’d been trying to force him to spend time with the very person who had betrayed his parents. 

And he knew it. She had a fairly good idea how long he’d known it too. Those questions he’d asked her a few weeks past. The secrets he’d been keeping. He’d known. He’d come into contact with Black even then. How or why that came to be she didn’t know, nor did she have any idea how long Sirius and Remus had been sneaking in and out of the school undetected. Albus’ questioning had been limited to the events of the morning of the first of November 1981, so either he didn’t care, hadn’t thought to care, or already knew. 

Personally, she thought the last was the most likely. At least she hoped so. Quite frankly, having been acting Headmistress during the period the two men had been doing their sneaking, she was rather anxious to know just how they had managed to circumvent the school’s rather legendary security. If she were still acting Headmistress, she’d be looking to find a way to seal up those holes. 

But she wasn’t. And she could only assume that Albus was doing what was necessary to prevent others from entering as the two former students had. 

That was all thoughts for another time however. Right now she had other priorities. Having left Dumbledore’s office after Sirius had finished giving his statement and had been given a potion to counter the effects of the Veritaserum (left uncountered, Veritaserum could leave someone not only unable to lie for anything up to forty eight hours, but could also render the recipient highly vulnerable to suggestion and feeling decidedly unwell) she’d rejoined the search effort and had only a few minutes ago finished reporting to Dumbledore their lack of success. Albus had been good about it, but Minerva wasn’t fooled. That Pettigrew hadn’t been found was worrisome to say the least. 

So she’d left Albus discussing how security around the castle could be increased with the Portraits and gone in search of their resident fugitives, although she wasn’t entirely sure the term rightly applied to Remus. Albus had apparently forbidden either of the two men from joining the search, and had instead secreted them away somewhere in the castle with instructions to bathe and get themselves checked out by Madame Pomfrey. And it was to this location that Minerva now strode, wishing for the chance to rest but knowing she wouldn’t find sleep until she’d checked on the two men.

Approaching a rather non-descript door in a little used section of a lower level (below ground, but hardly a dungeon level), she knocked and waited, breathing a fortifying breath through a nose. 

When the door opened a fraction, Minerva was met with the at first apprehensive, but then relieved face of Poppy Pomfrey.“Oh, Minerva it’s you. Come in.” 

Stepping through the door which had only been opened just enough to let her pass, Minerva nodded her thanks and surveyed the room. It was an old office. If she wasn’t mistaken, it had once belonged to head of the now redundant ‘Battle Magics’ department, back in a time way before the memory of even the oldest living witch or wizard. 

“I’m just about done here.” Poppy continued with a shake of her head. “Although I’ll want to see Black again before the end of the day. He’ll need to go on a special diet I’m afraid. Little and often. He’s in the advanced stages of malnutrition, and I doubt his stomach would take a meal even if it was put in front of him.”

“Doesn’t mean he wouldn’t try.” Remus Lupin suddenly broke into their conversation, emerging from a side room, wiping his hands on a cloth. 

“Well he’ll certainly regret it if he does. And I’m entrusting you to keep him in line Remus. Or he’ll wind up in a worse state than he’s already in.” Poppy ordered firmly, before seeming to address anyone who was listening rather than anyone in particular. “I don’t care what they’ve done, or why they’re in prison. That kind of treatment is just inhuman. Why it’s allowed is beyond me.”

“And that is why you as good a healer as you are Poppy,” Minerva comforted, placing a hand on the woman’s shoulder, “Thank you, for doing this and not asking questions. I promise I will explain everything later.”

Pomfrey waved her off. “I know you will. But the boys have already explained a lot of it. If you and Albus say Sirius Black is innocent then I believe it. I could never really get my head around him being guilty in the first place.”

“Then you were a lot more open minded then many of us.” Minerva conceded. 

Poppy shook her head, but at the stubborn set of Minerva’s jaw, she thought better of whatever comment she was about to make. “Well I’ll leave you to it.” Looking back at Remus she added, “and you remember what I said, or I’ll have both of you tied.”

“Yes Madame Pomfrey.” Remus replied with a deep nod. 

As Pomfrey slipped out, Minerva checked the door then turned back to the room, her gaze sweeping over Remus. “I see you’ve taken advantage of baths Mr Lupin. I can’t say it was too soon.”

“I can’t say it was either.” Remus chuckled lightly, and then looked down at himself. “And thank you, to whoever provided the clothes.”

“Either the house-elves misunderstood, or Albus is trying to show his funny side again.” Minerva replied desperately trying to keep the amusement from her face. “As amusing as it is to see you in uniform once again Mr Lupin, I think perhaps we can find you something more appropriate.”

Reaching into the folds of her robe, Minerva pulled out her wand and with a few muttered incantations, transfigured the grey trousers and white school shirt Remus was wearing into something a little better fitting and not quite so obviously taken from the school’s lost property bin. “That I’m afraid will have to do for the time being. I assume Black has a similar problem?”

“Not so much.” Remus shook his head, a smile twitching the corner of his lips. 

Frowning in confusion, Minerva looked around the room once more. “Where is he anyway?”

Looking a mix between exasperated and amused, Remus beckoned Minerva towards him as he crossed to the back of the room. There, blocked from view from the main part of the room by a large bookcase, was a dust sheet covered chaise-longue on which was sprawled the largest, scraggliest and thinnest dog Minerva had ever seen, clearly fast asleep. 

“Gracious” she gasped, before her tired mind suddenly filled in the blanks. “Thats... He’s... He’s an animagus?”

Beside her, Remus nodded. 

Minerva shook her head in disbelief. Not at the fact the Sirius Black was an animagus, no that was the least surprising part, but at herself. “Now this certainly does explain a lot. I didn’t think Pettigrew had it in him to achieve the transformation, but Black... well if he was coaching him then it’s not so surprising after all.”

“They both helped him.” Remus muttered quietly, then looked at little wide eyed at his admission. 

Minerva felt like slapping herself in the forehead. “Let me guess. Potter. Even now the four of you manage to astound me. What on earth convinced the three of them to even try? No, never mind, I think I can guess.” 

Remus ducked his head, and even in the gloom of the poorly lit and dusty office, Minerva could see his cheeks brighten. 

“Three unregistered animagi in my own house and I had not a clue.” Minerva snorted to herself, then she once again wished she were more awake and as a result not as slow. “Miss Granger’s Grim. It was him wasn’t it? He saved Hermione Granger from the Basilisk.”

“He did.” Remus affirmed quietly. 

“The trespassers overheard that night.” Minerva continued. “That was the pair of you as well wasn’t it? Oh so much makes sense now. And to think Albus knew all this time...”

Remus cast her a sideways look, and Minerva shrugged. “You know what he’s like. Riddles. The man loves his riddles. When I called Miss Granger’s rescuer a Grim he told me it was something more mundane yet at the same time far more incredible. An animagus is certainly more mundane than a Grim, but that it should be Sirius Black, whom we all believed at the time was a true follower of you-know-who, that rescued a Muggleborn...”

“Is far more incredible.” Remus finished for her. “I felt the same. That was the night I finally caught up with him.”

“I owe that man more of an apology than I can possibly ever hope to give.” Minerva sighed. “But it can wait. At least until he wakes up.”

“That might be a while.” Remus chuckled softly. “He accidentally admitted to Madame Pomfrey that he has nightmares, so she gave him a dreamless sleep potion.”

“Accidentally?” Minerva questioned in confusion. That Sirius would have nightmares should have gone without saying. Then a thought suddenly occurred to her. Black had clearly been in his animagus form before Poppy had left, which meant she had known about it. But if she had known she would have said something. Poppy was a great believer in patient healer confidentiality, but she would not have held information back if it could possibly result in harm to others no matter that she’d never truly believed Sirius to be guilty. 

As if Remus had read her mind, he suddenly seemed rather alarmed, and nodded his head to beckon Minerva back into the main part of the room, looking deeply uncomfortable. “Please don’t feel like he didn’t trust you enough to tell you about being an animagus. Its only she found something inside Sirius that needed explaining, and well Dumbledore already knew....”

Holding up her hand, Minerva halted Remus’ hurried explanation. Other than the fact that it was so like Remus to be concerned that somehow they’d managed to hurt her feelings, she suddenly had a very vivid flash of memory. In fact she had a number of them. Her own experiences during her early years as an animagus, a reminder in her diary, and most potent of all, a memory of a conversation with Poppy over fifteen years ago. The nurse had been concerned at sheer amount of potions designed to treat fleas and worms in animals that Remus had been getting through, having claimed that the Shrieking Shack had a ‘rat problem’. She’d also been rather concerned that Remus had found the situation amusing.

Now she understood. Remus had been amused because the rat problem had in fact been one single rat, his friend, Peter. And he hadn’t been getting through the potions himself, but instead had been sharing them with his friends, who had no doubt managed on various occasions, as she herself had from time to time, to pick up a difficult to explain parasite. 

Given that she now understood that Sirius had likely remained in his animagus form for a majority of the time he’d been back at the school in order to avoid being recognised, it was hardly surprising that he had once again managed to pick something up. Something Poppy would have seen instantly. 

That is of course, if Sirius hadn’t managed to pick it up anyway whilst in Azkaban. She wasn’t oblivious to the fact that humans weren’t immune to parasites when exposed to filthy conditions. 

Inside, Minerva shuddered and also felt acutely embarrassed. This was not information she should be privy too. Remus’ concern for her feelings she realised was only part of his ramble. The other part, was misdirection. A misdirection she was more than happy to follow along with. She might understand, and even sympathise, as only an animagus or a werewolf might, but that didn’t mean she wanted to talk about it. 

Smiling a little wanly, she waved Remus off. “Doubtless if Albus knows, and you two are to become something of a feature around here for a while, I would have found out when it was necessary. As an animagus myself I know that it is nobody else’s business but Sirius’ own when and how he chooses to let someone know. Although he might want to work out a jolly good reason for not informing the Ministry even before... well before...”

Relaxing slightly, Remus nodded. “I’m sure we’ll work something out.”

“Well, it’s the least of your concerns right now.” Minerva conceded, “Especially with Pettigrew still out there.”

It was like watching a man bend under the weight of a mountain, Minerva thought as she watched Remus sit down heavily in a cloth covered chair and put his head in his hands. Taking a chair opposite him, she waited and watched as he groaned and rubbed his hands over his face before looking up again. 

“I was hoping when you didn’t say it straight away...” He shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. “Wishful thinking. I knew the minute he made it out of Dumbledore’s office he wasn’t going to be caught.”

“He will be caught.” Minerva insisted firmly. 

Remus cast her a disbelieving look, then sighed, sitting back. “So what happens now?”

Minerva pinched her lips and resisted the urge to shrug. “To be honest with you, I have no idea. Albus wants to wait until a more reasonable hour to contact the Minister. He feels that it will not help Sirius’ cause to put the Minister in a bad mood by waking him up, even before he hears what Albus has to tell him. Perhaps his good news from yesterday will carry over, who knows.”

“Good news from yesterday?” Remus asked in confusion. 

“Why, the discovery of the Chamber of Secrets and the rescue of young Ginny Weasley of course. Not that Albus told him about Harry’s involvement. The last thing he needs is a barrage of press attention. Let Gilderoy have his last hurrah, it’s not like he can enjoy it. I actually find myself feeling sorry for him.”

“Hold on.” Remus urgently stalled her. “Harry’s involvement?!” 

Tbc...


	17. Glorious Hope

The first thing Harry was aware of when he woke up was that someone was shaking his shoulder. 

The second was that someone was calling his name. 

The third was that his rear end, shoulders and one leg were completely numb.

“Blimey Harry, have you been there all night?”

Blinking a little owlishly, Harry looked up, straightened his glasses that had somehow found themselves twisted half way round his head, and attempted to make his brain work. Slowly, a dark haired boy with unfortunate ears and teeth came into focus. “Neville?”

“You’ve got to be aweful cramped.” Neville winced in Sympathy. “Why didn’t you go to bed?”

“Must have...” Harry cracked a large yawn, “dozed off. What...” He yawned again and scrubbed at one eye under his glasses, “time is it?”

“Almost six.” Neville supplied helpfully. “Professor Sprout showed me the school’s Creeping Bellwart yesterday. She said if I made it down to the greenhouses early enough this morning, I could watch it bloom. It only blooms three days a year, right at dawn, and when it does it tinkles like thousands of tiny bells. How amazing is that? Want to come?”

Frowning slightly, Harry squinted at his dorm mate and slowly shook his head. It wasn’t that a magical plant that tinkled like bells didn’t sound interesting, because it did sound interesting enough that on any other day he might have been tempted to tag along, it was just that his mind was waking up. And as it woke up, the events of the last couple of days were beginning to register. 

So as Neville shrugged and got on with getting ready for the day, Harry found himself slowly, painfully and stiffly uncurling from the window nook and stumbling towards his own bed, his mind racing. 

Sirius. 

No news was good news right? Surely if Sirius Black had been recaptured it would be a big deal. There would have been all kinds of Ministry people swarming the school. He would have known about it. 

Right?

Unless they whisked him away quietly. 

Harry’s gut twisted as he sat on the edge of his bed.

He didn’t really notice the extreme pins and needles that scorched through his limbs. He didn’t notice as Neville made to leave. 

“Hey Harry. There’s a note here for you. Looks like someone slipped it under the door.”

Looking up, Harry frowned. “Really?”

Neville shrugged and walked over, passing Harry the note. “Are you sure you don’t want to come? If you get changed quickly we could still be there in time.” 

Shaking his head distractedly, Harry didn’t take his eyes off the note, so missed Neville’s last shrug as he turned and left, leaving Harry alone with his note and a sleeping Ron and Seamus. 

Turning the folded parchment over in his hands, Harry tried to work out if he recognised the handwriting. It wasn’t any of his friends, or any of the teachers. Or at least he didn’t think so. All it said on outside was ‘Mr Harry Potter’. 

Unfolded the paper wasn’t anything special either, but it was curious. It wasn’t particularly big, about the size of a greetings card. 

And on it were a set of directions.

~HpɸqH~

“And you have no idea who left it for you?”

Hurrying down the Grand Staircase, Harry shook his head at Hermione’s question. 

Having woken Ron up and badgered him until he finally got out of bed, they’d been on their way to see what it was Harry had been given directions to, when they’d found Hermione in the common room, clearly having been there some time. 

“I couldn’t sleep.” Was all she’d said, and in that moment she and Harry had shared a moment of pure silent understanding. While Ron was working on the premise that Dumbledore would sort everything out, - having Sirius arrested if he deserved it, and setting him free if he didn’t, once and for all making the decision Ron himself couldn’t quite make – Hermione, like Harry was convinced of Sirius’ innocence, and not so convinced that it was that simple.

“Well I think it’s awfully strange. Don’t you?” Hermione continued thoughtfully. “I mean, who would send someone a note with directions, but not tell them what they were directions to?”

“Maybe someone who thinks you’re looking for something?” Ron chipped in sleepily. 

“Well that’s the thing isn’t it?” Hermione shot back. “It’s not like Harry’s been wandering around for days asking where something is. and why not leave their name? I just think it’s terribly suspicious, that’s all. We should be careful.”

“I know that Hermione.” Harry sighed as they finally reached the bottom of the stairs. “But what if it’s important. What if it’s Sirius?”

Ron snorted and at the unimpressed looks from both Harry and Hermione he shrugged. “What? It’s funny. Sirius. Serious.”

“Honestly Ronald” Hermione sighed, before deliberately turning her back to him so she was facing Harry. “Where now?”

Looking at the parchment, Harry bit his lip for a moment before pointing down one of the corridors. “Down here I think. There should be staircase on the left somewhere.”

Quickly and quietly, the trio followed the directions finding the staircase indicated on the parchment and leaving it two levels down. 

“Bloody Hell.” Ron Muttered as they made their way down the dingy corridor. “I didn’t even know any of this was here. Where are we anyway?”

“The lower levels.” Hermione supplied knowingly. “There’s a lot of disused classrooms and offices down here.”

“Why aren’t they used?” Harry found himself asking curiously as he peered through the crack of a partly open door. 

“Curriculum changes.” Hermione shrugged. “They used to teach all kinds of other subjects here in the past, Necromancy, Battle Magics, Cartography, Latin, Greek, Needlepoint...”

“Needlepoint?” Ron scoffed incredulously. “Who the hell needed to know needlepoint?”

“At one time it was seen as a mark of refinement amongst women of certain class.” Hermione supplied like Ron was being deliberately obtuse. 

“Why did they stop?” Harry asked distractedly. The directions weren’t the easiest to follow, and the further away from familiar ground they went, the more nervous he felt. 

Hermione cast Ron one last pointed look before stepping closer to Harry. “Some subjects went out of fashion. Others were banned by the Ministry.”

“Necromancy.” Ron nodded firmly. “Everyone knows that’s dark magic. Not to mention creepy. All those corpses and zombies.”

“Shhh.” Harry quieted them. “The room we need should be just down here.” Moving as quietly as possible, Harry pressed on down the hallway, looking up at the door numbers and signs as he passed. He was looking for one in particular. 

It wasn’t long before he began to hear voices. Muffled voices, but voices none the less. They were definitely getting close. 

“There’s someone here.” Hermione whispered close up behind Harry. 

“Do you think its some kind of trap?”Ron murmured worriedly. “I’m not sure this was a good idea Harry.”

“Come on.” Harry shook his head and pressed closer. “Someone obviously wanted me to find something here. I think I need to find out what it is.”

Pulling out his wand, Harry cautiously moved on, freezing as the voices stopped abruptly. When nothing else happened, he stepped closer to the nearest door, and after checking the sign he lay his hand on the old wood with its peeling varnish and gave it a small push. Not enough to really open it, but enough to give him a gap to peer through. 

For a moment all he could see was a dusty old office. Then a face appeared in his line of sight. Right up against the crack in the door. 

“Ya-aaah!” he yelped in fright. Stumbling backwards, he scrambled to hold his wand out in front of him even as Ron and Hermione leapt behind him.

The door opened. And revealed none other than Remus Lupin, an expression on his face that was part amused, part chastising. 

“Harry.” Lupin noted calmly. 

“Mr Lupin!” Hermione blurted out excitedly. 

“Hermione,” Lupin nodded, then flicking his gaze to Ron and nodded again. “Ron.” Shaking his head a little chuff of laugher escaped him. “Might I suggest you three, that if you’re going to try and sneak up on people, you might want to be a touch quieter about it.”

Looking abashed, all three dropped their heads. 

A soft exhalation and Lupin took a step back holding the door open. “Well you found us, you might as well come in. 

“Us?” Harry’s face instantly brightened as he stepped forward, then looking past Lupin, he grinned. “Sirius!”

Standing in the middle of the room, Sirius startled a moment, then on seeing Harry charge towards him, he opened his arms. Harry’s head barely came up to his breastbone, but it didn’t stop him wrapping his arms tightly around his young godson. “Harry.”

Harry stiffened the moment Sirius’ arms closed around him. This was new, and slightly strange. He hadn’t thought about it when he’d seen Sirius, he’d just run. But it was Sirius, and it felt oddly right. Relaxing he let himself breathe a little easier, and as Sirius pulled back, resting his hands on Harry’s shoulders, Harry grinned up at him. “You’re still here.”

Sirius nodded stiffly, and his expression was pained. He seemed to be fighting himself, and it was a battle he eventually lost as he let out a pained groan. “What were you thinking!”

“What?” Harry yelped in confusion, pulling back more but unable to remove himself from Sirius’ grip. 

“You could have died! You almost did die from what McGonagall tells us! What on this earth possessed you to go chasing after a Basilisk!?” Sirius ranted in dismay. 

“Sirius... calmly.” Remus cautioned, stepping up to the pair and laying comforting hand on Sirius’ back. 

Taking a deep breath, Sirius dropped his head, letting Harry’s shoulders go. As alarming as the turn of events was, Harry found himself feeling strangely bereft at the loss of contact. 

Taking another breath, Sirius got down on one knee so he had to look up to see Harry’s face. Reaching out again, he took Harry by the upper arms. “Harry, I know... I know that you barely know me. I know that I haven’t been there for you so far. But you have to understand, that doesn’t mean Remus and I don’t care. We do care, and when we heard about what happened. It frightened us Harry. We didn’t know any of it. You didn’t say anything. If you had, we could have helped.”

Harry shifted his gaze away uncomfortably, looking anywhere but at the two adults in the room. He was used to hearing lectures from teachers – he was used to McGonagall’s exasperation and Dumbledore’s knowing looks and proud amusement – he was used to being yelled at by the Dursley’s, but this was something different and it made something new and unpleasant coil in his stomach. 

“We did try Mr Black.” Hermione spoke up a little plaintively. “After Ginny was taken I tried to come and find you but...”

“Bloody Filch caught her and took her to McGonagall. Then Dumbledore came back, and by then it was all over.” Ron finished for her, folding his arms. He didn’t add, but Harry heard nonetheless, that they weren’t entirely sure they could trust Sirius then. 

Or at least Ron hadn’t been. Harry had been sure, he just hadn’t considered going to them for help. He was the one helping them. Or at least, that’s how it had felt at the time.

With a sigh, Sirius dropped his head forward then looked up again, cupping Harry’s face in his hands with a wry chuckle. “I want to help. No matter what it is, if you’re in trouble I want to know about it. Can you do that for me? Can you let me help?”

Harry nodded slowly, finally returning his gaze to Sirius’ earnest one. Then he bit his lip. “Does that mean you’re free now?”

Shaking his head, Sirius sighed sadly. “It’s not quite as simple as that.” His brow creasing in confusion, Harry opened his mouth to question him, but Sirius cut him off. “I will be. But it takes a bit more than convincing Dumbledore to make it official.”

“He should be talking to the Minister of Magic even as we speak.” Remus chipped in with a reassuring look. “We’ll know more after that. In the meantime, Dumbledore has offered Sirius, offered us both, safe harbour here in the school.”

“Why do you need safe harbour?” Harry looked up at Remus in confusion, and wasn’t obviously to the way Sirius’ head snapped around to look at him to.

A small shake of Remus’ head, a roll of Sirius’ eyes and then Harry’s godfather turned back to him. “Remus could get into a lot of trouble for helping me. Until I’m officially cleared, it’s best if Remus keeps a low profile. Just in case.”

“Oh.” Harry replied a little dumbly, looking worriedly between his godfather and his friend. 

Sitting back on his heels and clapping his hands together, Sirius broke the silence that had fallen. “While we wait for news, why don’t you three sit down tell us your side of the Chamber of Secrets story hmm?”

“And while you’re at it.” Remus followed on, crossing to a dust sheet covered armchair and sitting down, “I’m quite curious to know why Professor McGonagall thinks you’ve made yourself an enemy in Lucius Malfoy.”

“Its... a long story.” Harry winced uncomfortably, stepping back slightly as Sirius stood up and threw himself to lounge in another chair. 

Spreading his hands, Sirius grinned. “And we have lots of time.”

Looking back at his friends who in Ron’s case just shrugged, but in Hermione’s case grinned hugely and nodded, Harry moved towards the empty couch and sitting a little awkwardly, began his tale. 

“Well it sort of started over the summer, you see there was this house-elf, called Dobby and he...”

Once he got started it all sort of flowed. He skimmed over the details when it came to Dobby’s first appearance at the Dursley’s – he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to tell Sirius about them, at least not yet. But he told him about being blocked from getting onto Platform 9 3/4, about taking Mr Weasley’s car (something that greatly interested Sirius until Harry mentioned the car seemed to have gone wild, and then Sirius went oddly quiet about it). He talked about Dobby being the one to enchant the bludger that had broken his arm, and Lockhart’s failed attempt to heal it. He talked about finding the first message from the Heir of Slytherin and about the Polyjuice potion, which made Sirius and Remus share a look that was both knowing and wistful. He tried not to talk about Pettigrew mainly because he didn’t want to talk about him, but also because one brief mention had made both men get angry. 

He tried to make it all make sense, and Ron and Hermione jumped in a lot, explaining things and pointing out things he’d missed. One thing he definitely left out, was his ability to speak parseltongue, but unfortunately it appeared McGonagall had already shared that with the two men, because they brought it up. But contrary to what he’d expected, Sirius hadn’t seemed or sounded disgusted when they talked about it, only concerned. And angry. Although apparently not at Harry himself, but at Voldermort. Which made sense, even if a part of Harry wasn’t entirely convinced Sirius’ anger wasn’t in some part directed his way. After all, he was apparently carrying around the powers of the man who had killed Sirius’ best friend. That couldn’t be easy to deal with. 

The only time the two men seemed to differ in their reactions to what they heard was when Harry talked about Dobby. While Remus seemed curious and confused by the house-elf, Sirius seemed convinced the elf was up to something. 

Even when Harry told him about how he’d tricked Malfoy into freeing him. 

“So just so we’re clear.” Sirius drawled a little darkly. “That elf, Malfoy’s elf, stole your mail and made you think your friends had forgotten you, got you into trouble at home, tried to stop you getting on the Hogwarts Express which landed you in even worse trouble here at school, then he set a rogue bludger on you and broke your arm, tried to convince you to leave the school, which should be the safest place for you although I’m beginning to doubt that right now, and then you... just decide to set him free?”

“He was trying to save my life.” Harry argued back vehemently. “He didn’t want me to come to school this year because he knew Malfoy was going to plant the diary on someone so the chamber could be opened again. He was trying to protect me! Besides I think he did actually save my life after I freed him.”

“How so?” Remus questioned with a frown. 

“Malfoy was going to curse me I think.” Harry shrugged awkwardly, looking away. “He was really angry and he raised his wand and shouted something, and Dobby jumped in front me. It was amazing, he blew Malfoy right down the hall.”

“Can you remember what he shouted?” Sirius asked urgently. 

His face turned slightly green when Harry replied. “He didn’t finish, but it started with something like Avada?”

“Harry.” Remus suddenly spoke up again, also looking slightly unwell and his tone grave. “If what you say is true then that elf did indeed save your life. There is only one curse that begins with that word. and it has but one purpose. To kill.”

As Remus spoke, beside Harry, Hermione was muttering something under her breath. It sounded like ‘Avada, avada, avada...Ka...

“Miss Granger.” And old and rich sounding voice suddenly made everyone startle and jump to their feet, turning to the doorway where Dumbledore stood. When he’d entered Harry didn’t know, and given the looks on both Sirius’ and Remus’ faces he doubted they knew either. “It would be best if you did not finish that incantation. Unless you wish to suffer a fate Sirius can attest to being worse than death.”

Hermione blinked owlishly at the Headmaster for a moment then ducked her head as Remus and Sirius both stepped forward. 

“What news?” Remus asked. 

Dumbledore didn’t speak for a moment, merely looked between the five other people in the room, lingering longest on Sirius and Harry, before turning his gaze back to Remus ahd shaking head. “Not what we had been hoping for I’m afraid.”

“What?!” Harry couldn’t help butting in. “But Sirius is innocent!”

“Yes.” Dumbledore agreed. “However the Minister of Magic is not convinced. Without his assurance that he would be prepared to reopen the investigation or give Sirius fair trial I could not risk offering what evidence we have without revealing Sirius’ location or the identities of those who had been aiding him.” At this remark he peered pointedly at Harry Ron and Hermione, “However without this evidence I had nothing to offer him to change his opinion. As you are no doubt aware Sirius, Cornelius Fudge was present at your arrest, and believes strongly in your guilt. Alas, now that Pettigrew has once again vanished, he is even more convinced of it. I am afraid he believes, that I have been remiss in my duty in protecting Pettigrew and that you have succeeded where he believes you failed previously.”

“But that’s nonsense!” Hermione argued. “Pettigrew isn’t dead!”

“But we can’t prove that.” Sirius groaned. “The filthy rat’s done it again. He’s gone to ground and now everyone will think he’s dead and I’ve killed him.”

“All is not lost Sirius.” Dumbledore hastened to reassure. “He may yet be convinced, and if not him, then others members of the Wizengamot. There are other avenues which can be pursued, but it will take time.”

“So what are we supposed to do until then?” Remus asked in exasperation. 

“Well firstly, I beleive there are three second years who should be in lessons.” Dumbledore turned his gaze once more on Harry, Ron and Hermione who looked back sheepishly. But Dumbledore didn’t look cross, more like amused. “and then I believe, I may have an idea.”

The End

(Well except for the epilogue!)


	18. Epilogue

**Mid March – 1993**

It was raining. 

It wasn’t fitting or apt, nor was it out of place. It wasn’t torrential nor was it light. It was just rain. Falling softly from a dreary overcast sky. 

There was a pub not far from where he stood, but he doubted it was open yet. Perhaps later they would step in. A little meander down memory lane. But not yet. 

They had things to do first. 

He thought about the last time he was here. It had been raining then too. Would all his memories of this place always be tainted by rain? He hoped not. There were so many happy ones. Buried somewhere under all the history. Buried under all the pain and lies, secrets and heartache. Buried under eleven years of stolen life. 

Inside the house that now stood as a monument. A landmark. 

It was wrong. And so typical of the world they lived in. To make this place, this once wondrous place, a tourist attraction. Because that’s what it was. It wasn’t a monument to commemorate the immeasurable sacrifices that had been made, or to honour the fallen. This was no place of reflection where the next generation could come and appreciate the courage, bravery, tenacity, ingenuity, determination and skill of those who had fought to keep them free. 

It was just a place. Out of history. Where people stood to have their picture taken, huge smiles on their faces or posed in mockeries of the events that had taken place here. 

It had only been eleven years. But so much had already been lost. The stories were still told but they were fairy-tales now. People had moved on. People got on with their lives and they happily, obliviously, sometimes purposefully, forgot. 

He couldn’t forget. 

How could he? When so much of his life had been wound up in this cottage in Godric’s Hollow. How could he when the events that had turned the once beautiful little house into a pile of rubble had had such a defining impact on the years that would follow. 

How could he when he had once stood on this very spot and fallen head first into a lie condemning a good man and falsely naming a bad one a martyr. 

He couldn’t. And even if he could, he didn’t want to. 

Beside him, an enormous black dog whined and pawed the ground, making Remus Lupin look down, his hand resting easily on the dog’s enormous head, scratching his ears. 

‘Wrong, all wrong. Den? Den Gone. Bad. Bad here. Pack gone. Sad. Lonely. Hurt.’

Canine wasn’t the most articulate of languages, but Remus understood it well enough. “I know, Padfoot, there’s nothing here.”

Beside him, the dog whined again, then tail hanging low, began to move off, casting only the briefest look over his shoulder to make sure Remus was following. 

He didn’t stop until he reached a gate, and then Remus took the lead, winding his way from memory through the stones and trees to where he’d stood only once before. To the grave of James and Lily Potter. 

Snuffling forward, Padfoot approached the grave, sober eyes taking in the lettering on the simple but beautiful headstone. His legs began to shake, but Remus didn’t interrupt him. The scent of pain and remorse rose up and filled his nostrils but he remained where he was. 

The trembling increased, and with a whimper the dog collapsed to the ground before lifting its head and solemnly letting out a plaintive wail to the sky. 

‘Grief. Regret. Remorse. Grief. Regret. Remorse.’ 

Finally stepping forward, Remus sat himself down beside the grave on the damp grass, heedless of the continuing rain. Reaching over he ran his hand over Padfoot’s head, tangling his fingers in the thick wet fur of his neck. 

“This isn’t your fault.” He finally choked out, echoing words spoken to him eleven years previously. 

The eyes that turned to him were pained and full of disbelief. 

The rain continued to fall. Remus didn’t mind. It was only rain, and Padfoot needed this. 

The day drew on. The sky grey dark. 

Standing up, Remus paid no mind to his sodden clothes. It didn’t matter, he was wet through anyway. 

“Come on Padfoot.” He said softly. 

The large head raised slowly and cocked to one side. 

‘Where go?’

“Home.”

 

The End


End file.
